in my private moment of stolen grief
by public views of what appears
to be a happier version of me
what appears in blink of thunder and flash
to protect brokenness as leaky puddles
of someday when change comes
someday when the world is full stupid some-days
we can’t be tired of being sick and tired too long
because too many of us are dying under the burden of grief
head stones that roll away love in private pastures, shouting to the pieces of the soul that fly. Stay a little longer and let me be human with holes in the middle of my flesh and wounds that remember the safety in the someday when we go home where love is~kindness sister Krissy
A Poet's Vision 