When Mortality Rears Its Ugly Head
A poet disjointed
The inevitability of every day things doesn’t make them any easier.
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Somewhere, every day, Moms get cancer. Somewhere, every day, cancer spreads. Somewhere, every day, your brother calls to let you know it reached the brain. Somewhere, every day, you tell yourself you’ll be alright. Somewhere, every day, you know you’ll never be the same. Somewhere, every day, this thing that is so real is happening.
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Why do we feel we’re the first or the worst? Why do we feel like no one has ever felt this before?
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Somewhere, every day, you walk into a bar. Somewhere, every day, you order a beer. Somewhere, every day you think you’re a writer. Somewhere, every day, you tell yourself someone will read and understand. Somewhere, every day, you know you’ll never be the same. Somewhere, every day, you have to find a way to process.
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You sometimes have to say this thing that is in your heart, even if the writing isn’t your best.
MAS (poetry)
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