This year has been better than last, Emotionally and physically I am in a good place. Still after the hell that was 2015, I find myself in more of a hold than normal. I normally write at least 70 poems in a year and at least a story of some sort. Even if I end up destroying the stories, I do write them. Yet this year has been an inspirational void. I have them…after major life changes. It makes sense if you think about it. How does one appreciate the poetry of life, when the mind is still adjusting to chaos that comes from being truly a hot mess. I still see the poetry, still feel the story. Surrealism clouds a busy mind.
For me March is one I almost always have a distracted mind during. This month is my birthday month. I am not a single bit worried about my age, however that doesn’t mean I don’t contemplate what growing older means. I expected that I would be so much more and yet I am farther than I thought I would be. So many of life’s choices have led me down a path that led me in both dark and light places that i could have never imagined. Today I am forty. I have made choices, both good and bad. In Eleven days, I will be forty and one . It always strikes me as strange. Perhaps that is why March sets me on my ear.