Poems From The Heart

Previously

…And sometimes, when the wind howls just right outside the window, rattling the cheap glass pane, I am instantly back on 4th Street, waiting for dawn, waiting for the world to forget I exist until tomorrow. That terror, that deep, cold recognition of utter worthlessness—that is the past that still hurts. It’s the shadow ghost I have to wrestle into submission every single night before I can dare to sleep. And every morning, I wake up and start the fight anew, determined to live so fully in the present that the past loses its purchase, one quiet, steady breath at a time.