it’s a winter night tonight and I’m sitting in my room in the warmest jacket I could find but my hands are still frozen and the darkness seeps in from the windows
I’ve given up trying to argue with my suffering, I’m just sad and with plenty of good reason too
but when I climb into bed under a thick comforter and still shiver I wonder why things haven’t changed yet
I’m still alone nearly seven months later I’ve found no one, not even a fling not even a friend and each day it gets harder to get up and smile into the cold breeze
the stars have stopped talking to me
the earth no longer shows me her beauty
I do not think I will survive the winter alone in the universe like this
but that’s the lie that I like to tell myself
I will always survive
through hell, burning or freezing, through apocalypse, through upheaval, through war, through abandonments, through destruction, and even through certain kinds of death I will still be here, writing poems for the darkness of night for no other reason than to prove I existed for one more moment
like a soldier always marching like an ant always building like a tree always growing like the world always churning I am unstopping yet not unyielding, living, as I do, in accordance with the earth:
surviving, if barely, from each harsher winter she puts before me and always rising greater than before