Polyhymnia would be so proud

It took one tragedy too many,

to rob me of poetry,

It was the final stone in my windshield,

that left me in pieces so many;

strewn across four years of asphalt,

that I have to walk back on,

and pick up the words as I go.

I've left a few words along the way,

"Sorry,

I got in the way of you hurting me."

"Sorry,

I'm not who you want me to be."

"Sorry,

I didn't accept your hate."

"Sorry,

I was so angry at your nonsense."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

I left that word behind and

picked up a few old golden nuggets.

"Fuck off" is a choice phrase that I found,

re-entering my everyday lexicon.

Sometimes spoken.

Sometimes just a thought behind a smile.

-o0o-