picking a scab-14.01.15


*artwork- “wound” by pejac via artcollectorz.com


When I pick a scab,

Tiny echo of ache,

What do I wish to feel?

Quite simple.

To feel.

It’s yearning for yearning.

An infinite plowing through barren fields

Of terrain so hard and  frozen.




No woman’s land.

My enslavement to pain

Never loosens its grip.

Devout hostage to sour lump in my throat, I am.

Won’t ever spit out

Won’t ever push in.

That’s right.  For

Being tormented is of rarest value.



*artwork- “sun dance” via artfinder.com/paigecastile


when i step into my room,

after a long day of waiting for things

to happen,

i am about to have two hours of

witnessing the sun hitting my space lovingly

caressing my face like my grandma never would.

right there and then my day starts to unfold

and right there and then my heart is full with


for all the little and great things that i can feel

and touch and see and experience

nothing is taken for granted

for every slippery moment is precious.

so this light that consumes the rooms

for about two hours, daily

is a tenacious reminder of appreciation

for whatever virtues i was granted.