It counts for everything.
There are celebrity poets who write for trophies and then there are the real poets who write for love.
Under a blanket of blue skies we hold fast to each other and dreams still unfulfilled.
I was hungry and thirsty and then you offered me sustenance with your kindness and unwavering support.
Why are so many people lackluster about their life choices when life offers unlimited possibilities to those willing to embrace the unknown?
I stared into the fire until I became the fire. Not believing in God makes no sense whatsoever because something most certainly created us.
I changed my mind in the changing room and when I looked into Kat's eyes I knew I had finally arrived home.
There are celebrity poets who throw around the word brother like it actually means something and then there are the burned down poets who feed cheap sentiment to the dogs of war.
I've never been on a poetry tour and sometimes that makes me feel bad then I remember I'm on 24/7 and have no time to pack my bags or travel the many miles to another Covid bar or empty bookstore.
Doing the work is what defines us, not the accolades or chest thumping you may experience once you come down from your ivory tower and meet the citizens on their own terms.
I think about the scene with the poppies in The Wizard of Oz and wonder if Kat would scratch me behind the ears if I were The Cowardly Lion?
There's nothing to lose when life is on our side and death is mocking us from an unsafe distance.
Your loving words count for everything as I face another day of infamy in a potshot world of second chances.
I love you.