My Mother Used To Tell Me When

This Is The World I Want To Live In. The Shared World.

Maybe When Your Mother Died Young, You Became Instantly Old.

Poetry Calls Us To Pause. There Is So Much We Overlook, While The Abundance Around Us Continues To Shimmer, On Its Own.

It Is Really Hard To Be Lonely Very Long In A World Of Words. Even If You Don't Have Friends Somewhere, You Still Have Language, And It Will Find You And Wrap Its Little Syllables Around You And Suddenly There Will Be A Story To Live In.

Getting Over What You Did To Me Is Not Why I Get Out Of Bed Anymore.