Some days
I stare at the sun
I study its minor
imperfections
I see the beauty
of its scars
I feel the depth
of its existence
some days
I like being sad
I paint my heart
in the darkest blue
I welcome sorrow
I hold it in my chest
like a deep breath
like imperfect poetry
I find a quiet place
far away from the
heavy machinery
and the screech
of grinding wheels
I embrace isolation
I choose to call her
my closest friend …
Clay.M