I stopped writing in sentences and started writing in poetry
maybe because my soul was too tired to even summon
punctuation marks
and life became an endless, unformed thought which did
not deserve
the finality of a period or the clarity of prose
the agonized ache under my ribs was expressed better in
broken lines
and though I will never claim the title of poet and
always own up to my mediocrity
poetry feels right
at least for
now
while clouds still hover among patches of happiness
and eyes are darkened by shadow
each morning is a gasp for life
every conversation a question of love
no relationship is certain
and the strength to go on even less sure
meanwhile
healing enters through hidden doorways
and maybe I won’t create unfit poetry forever
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