The teacher said:
"Today we're going to write poetry."
And my brain did:
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what is wrong with me

Espy
a secret
Buried in eagerness
          Acting different
          It read out loud
To an exact feeling
Uneasy to miss
          Nesting there
          Something small
Finally became big

Branching out
Untouchable height
          It seeks no limit

Or consequence
Of prepping for a glimpse
          Desired by
Ignorance

          Staining red
          Conflicted doom
          Upon old experience
          Fully aware of the oblivious
Old trick

There are signs of you

all over the home now.

Little memories
and little mementos.

Clues and reminders that you are real
and not
just a
concept.

I cannot wait to meet you,

little one.

I meditate on my pain
Simmer in my failure
Drink in my sickness
Torture myself with memories
Until I smile
Because I did it
I made myself feel something
Finally