Growing up, there was Scripture, prose and poems around the house, things that helped mold me into the person I am today. I read and re-read these lines and began enjoying rhymes at an early age.
My face contorts, twisting muscle, pulling skin – tears again A familiar posture – SURVIVAL, then pain, then muscle memory. Maybe bending my brows and pursing my cheeks will alter reality Or perhaps offer salve. They travel- tear to eyes- face to heart and back again. Temporary agony. I know. Brief, I’m certain. But deep….
Anger waits on the tip of a spear with a handle and a head that may quickly be reversed.