Torn Sheet

Translucent films of white

Pages strewn on the floor

Denying the words that want to find a place

On their thin surfaces

Instead traversing the busy highways of a

Friday afternoon’s thoughts

Backing one into another

When I don’t think I can feel

I tear the paper

In order to let them out


And doubts about what I am doing

Wishing the jagged edge would

Mean something

Moving is not easy

Change comes as you drive along

Blind to potential

I feel like I must have failed

I find myself here

Crumple the page and throw it away

I roll down the window

The air outside is warm

And the papers flutter in the breeze

Animated into dance

Words start to fly

Shame can’t live outside

Boundaries of silence

I am breaking through

Gossamer sheets of pulp

Recycled and renewed in a world

That no longer sees their value

I shut off the screen that tells

Rather than allows me to speak

I will write after so long

And breathe


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I like the sun in San Diego. It is out almost every day. I normally follow it as it ushers in the day, then leave with it in the evening. Day in and day out it is beautiful. Sadly, most days I don't think much about it being there.

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