poetry allows me to purge and process. its how I breathe.
not a seed has stopped growing,nor tear ever stopped leaking from sockets,since the day you entered the spirit world,love never wilted or withered,like plants did as the seasons passed over,new trees grew over your headstone,I washed, I left you letters, I left my tears,a lagoon of hurt at the site of your burial,I laughed, I […]