Faded French fry walls Bargain ketchup colored floors Still, I am grateful
This poem was written during my high school days when I was in my third depression, and when I found what an incredible healing tool writing could be. (Woab! I just had a metacognition flash typing that sentence: The act of finding something beautiful in a terrible time reflects the poem’s message it self. I found writing in my depression. [Oh, the isometric beauty!]) The 14th stanza (I’ve put it in bold.) has become a mantra for me when life splits at the seems.