This is a space to share my poems and dreams. Eventually, I’d like to compile these thoughts into a little prayer-book of sorts. Let me know your thoughts!
This poem is about one of my first memories: the violence of being (accidentally) stabbed and the incongruous societal expectation that you must tough it out, you have to “kiss-and make-up”, and then you move forward. Anybody with siblings knows how fast this turnaround between war and peace is expected, and sometimes it is frankly bullshit.
i once held joy
Permanence in poetry as in love is perceived instantly. It has not to await the test of time. The proof of a poem is not that we have never forgotten it, but that we knew at sight that we could never forget it. — Robert Frost