In Which I Dream a Poem about My Life

The writing stays. I wrap it around me like

A blanket, like a superhero’s cape.

Friends drift. Size doesn’t matter and

Sometimes is downright

Counterproductive. Age happens—and

That’s the soft option—bringing its own

Aches and pains. But through it all,

Beyond it all, the writing stays.

One comment on “In Which I Dream a Poem about My Life

  1. psyedit says:

    Oh—you already did!

    I love the poem. I’m struggling with depression/anxiety/worldangst now, so your poem acknowledges that.

    Thank you!

    Liked by 1 person

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