Poetry, short prose, & general musings.
I’m holding out hope
This ship will turn
And fire from years past
Can rekindle a weak heart
As we pass through days
Toiling, giving of ourselves
To what we deem as worthy
Our hands will brush
Eyes meet
We begin again
Clinging to what was
Begging for something new.
Whoever you will be
Despite or because of me
Is a mystery
Both exciting & terrifying
The possibilities
My control is minimal
To love you
Is the most precious gift
At times I drink to have a laugh
A cheery time to clink glasses
Bring down walls built
Through days of work and grit
Others times – to make the edges fuzzy
Forget the pain and tragedy
Relinquish who I long to be
A therapist would say
I need to feel the pain in a raw way
Not the one – that alcohol dulls
I do wonder when
I won’t need it any longer.
One day I will accept
The realist version of me.
You see a light through a picture window in the evening, escaping through long, white curtains not fully drawn. It is a tiny beacon of comfort to you, outside. The warm glow an invitation to a safe place where you might feel free to be genuine. You knock gently on the door, the vulnerability breaking your already fragile heart. You step into a softly lit room with a crackling fire. A warm blanket and glass of bourbon with a single, large cube of ice smoldering inside the glass awaits. Smiles exchanged, listening ears await. May it be to you today, to know that you will be okay.
Kacie B. Sharpe 