A poem is never finished

Sometimes it feels like life is all about death. It’s always in the back of our minds, reminding us that we shouldn’t take any of this for granted because it’s all temporary.

I wonder if future religions will ban social media the way past religions have banned birth control and caffeine and alcohol and certain kinds of sex.

It’s okay if you create art that you don’t share with anyone. But after a while, I hope you realize that sharing moves all of us forward. Art makes life better.

I wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember, but I could have never predicted how it would challenge and change who I am. All in the best and hardest ways. I hope that someday I will be able to understand what’s happening and explain what I mean, when I’m no longer in the thick of it.

Who else is struggling like this?

I don’t know if the city helps. Lately, it feels stifling. The cars whizzing by. The concrete. The plethora of buildings, even the beautiful ones. There’s a lot to love here. But a lot to process.

All the more reason to do the inner work. A peaceful inner world translates to a peaceful outer world.

Usually it helps to write down everything that’s swirling in the mind.

My daughter got these flowers for her 6th birthday and they’ve been keeping me company for nearly two weeks now. They speak to me.

“A poem is never finished, only abandoned.” – unknown


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