Sometimes you change
And so does your mentality.
You ain't recognize your taste,
Unfollow pages, cause now they bring anxiety.

Sometimes you change
And not only location,
But also people that you place
Around yourself, it's called prioritization.

Sometimes you change
And ain't making same decision.
New choices you now make
Do set new course and clear your vision.

A Child full of wonder comes home
And hangs her coat on a peg
She hangs her backpack
Her scarf and her mittens on a string
the new friends she made
the smell of a spring and freshly baked biscuits
And the sound of Mrs Townsend taking the register
She puts her headband on the peg, with her name painted on it in silver
And her jumper with her name sewn inside
The whirr of the acorn computer and the flash of coloured pencils
The shyness and worry about not fitting in
The wish to be seen but not be the centre of attention
The worry about nightmares coming true
The realisation that everything just like the day has to come to an end
I will always love you
She longed for a skipping rope
She ties the rope securely around the peg
How sturdy with all this weight
She stares at the peg proudly
She thought about her day and her hopes and her worries
and thought about how heavy they can sometimes feel
So she knows this peg is doing a great job
At taking the load

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.