It has been a rough week. My father has been in and out of the hospital. I feel helpless and tired. My depression has come for it’s mid-winter visit. It is so cold. At least the sun shines…

I have been slowly working through beta read documents. Making slow but steady progress in my WIP.

I stumbled across this poem while searching my Google Docs for more feedback Docs. It was written several years ago. I took a break from my story to make some edits to it today. It still seems relevant to me, especially in these days.

“You’re the nicest person I know.”

An easy mistake to make.

Fear is not kindness.

A bottomless well of hatred
spends its time breaking fingers,
pours out of me in great fat tears until I beg,
keeps me captive at night.

And, love
that bulges and stretches skin,
sharpens the sticks,
makes mountains that I can’t climb

Love for people I’ve never met
Places never seen
Ideals more painful than hunger

Everything can be a weapon
when I chain myself to the rocks.
Too heavy, 
I seldom stand up.

Nice is the blanket I hold in trembling hands, hiding
Not my virtue