281–The Child Who Loves Her Own Life

going through old boxes
beating myself up with
memories so distorted
it seems as if the past was
bliss and not the blistering
day to day love song full
of splinters that fester if
left there to ferment good
wine is made this way too
from the right mix of soil
and wind and rain and cutting
god loves the child who
loves her own life seems to me
life has very little to do with
“reality”
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