Looking over my shoulder
I was 13 when poetry found me in the library
hovering over the latest beauty magazines
wondering why I couldn’t see myself
Moma’s job had just ended, we still needed money for the past due light-bill
going to church wasn’t bad, as I recall Moma gave over every last cent paying for a miracle.
In the morning the sun rose gently, helping us with another lightless day
then it was poetry and I, stride by stride,
pain and grief, blood in the middle.
I was writing,
kindness sis. Krissy
A Poet's Vision 
Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! The best “why I started writing” story ever!
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I’m glad the pen found you too – 😊🎶
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Thank you for sharing that story. It means a lot to me. Poetry found me when my father was drunk and raging through with all that PSTD and guns and craziness.
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wow, so glad you made through all of it – thank God – and thanks for sharing it with me as well
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Most poets I know are survivors … and I got lucky and my Dad found AA when I was 13 and it turned his life around, but I kept on writing.
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indeed we are, so glad you kept on writting also glad to know your dad was able to turn his life around, many are not so blessed – beautiful testimony 😊
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