When I accept myself
For who I am
I find it strange
That nothing changes.
And when I think about
What thinking does
It never seems
What I am changes.
Finally I look
And squint and pinch and scratch.
At the flesh of my reality.
To mark
the nothing changes.
Perhaps its the glasses of pain that eludes the changes that has taken place ...
ReplyDeleteI love this poem.
ReplyDelete