I know my mother better than I know my father. This is one of my biggest regrets.
I can forgive someone without giving them a second chance to hurt me. Or a third. An eighth. A million more chances to leave me hurting.
I hope it is my life that is important. Not my death.
Losing sleep can make me slow, quiet, gentle. Or, angry and mean. Thankfully, the former is more likely.
I worry sometimes, that I am not good. Am I good? It's not enough to want to be good. Can I be better than I am?
Death does not discriminate, but those who live dangerously will sooner meet their fate.
Turn my soul into a garden, so that something good may come from me. Like the smell of flowers long after I am gone.
YOU ARE READING
Zoning out at Work Vibes
PoetrySometimes at work, the idea for a story or poem pops into my head. No one said I should write them down, but I've decided to try anyway. Maybe you will think it is awful, but I already love this. About halfway through, I begin to mix in some of my o...
