1:52PM 11/28/2017

By Amy Thomson


feels like I’ve waited
forever for peace.
Fields of contentment
plagued with resentment.
Self-doubt creeps
as bravery weeps.
Tear soaked fears
soak the straightjacket
I’ve sewn for myself.
Opportunity’s path,
lined with wrath,
has a good laugh
when I reach a dead end.
Now willing to bend,
apologies I send,
friendships I mend,
my fields I tend.
I dust off my knees,
cut through the trees,
form my own road
before I implode.


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