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.
A haiku about my unconventionally colored home.
Butterfly pea Makes an excellent tea, Unless you are three. Then butterfly pee Sounds rather nasty, And will make you scream, “No, […]
Action makes them real