Sometimes I stick out from my friends a bit - I think. It’s the French in me. Americans have this excité-ment about things - that’s, well, exhausting.

Sometimes, when friends are jumping about, they practically plead for my engagement. I think I have a genetic, French reticence, an observer gene.

True, I have my moments of bitter COVID lock-down angst but I'm doing better than some friends. Maybe because the French live slowly - life is just moments - once a moment has passed, it’s gone.

I wait, in my secret gardens, like a cat on a settee, sipping small pleasures. The poet in me refuses to zone out - there are poems in the stillness.

A net sum of years,
            and romanticized numerals,
Built up by birthdays,
            to be torn apart by funerals.

Frayed ends of friendships,
            pulled until they popped.
A holy mess
            in the wake of a difference,
Between what said
            and what was thought.

You say you dont know who you are
You rearing to leave us a scar
I still dont understand the way
You sulk through life each day
Not that im one to pass
But im getting quite crass
With the way you say
Nothing is better today

Macabre things make me smile
Too much for me to be sane.
Death arouses my inner child
Escaping me from the mundane.
Life is bitter while death is sweet
As the shadows haunt me
Down these now empty streets.
But in death I am one
With the night,
Dark as pitch and black tones,
Blue and violet bruises
Burning bright on my soul.
There were many times when even I
Felt the hum drum judgement of god
Thundering upon me through pale light,
You would have thought I'd been robbed...
In any case, if I should ever yell out in a rage
Or cry profusely over all the pain,
Bend down to my ear and
Remind me there are better days.

her crystal pedestal shattered

             her tiara
                     bent and covered in filth
                        lying in a river of her tears

who she was now in soul searching question


                   the true test of a princess
                           is not how she holds herself              when waving to the crowds




but rather
  
                           how well she cleans
                           the hearth
                           when finery becomes tattered

Breathe in
Your coffee every morning
Breathe out
The nightmares of last night
Accept
Your cat brushing against your leg
Decline
His apologetic lies
Welcome in
The clarity of brisk air on your walk to work
Throw out
Her unwanted baggage
Embrace
A new day, the sun, the birds, what lies ahead... independence-- you're not alone.
Push away
Everything which ruins your evening, paranoia, grief, the unknown...
The stars are yours to hold
Your life belongs to you again
Breathe, accept, welcome, embrace.

it’s hard to have a positive outlook on the future with depression
when that’s what i feel all the time

Every day you are given is a blessing
Whether you crawl through or sprint full speed
Not one single thing is greater than the gift of life

That sounds clique

I know this positive outlook isn't sustainable
Regardless, I will express this significant message because I yearn for it to ring true
Every given day is a blessing