Why? Before why; I always come last like the letter Z.
Let me touch ground on this lonely, silent space.
This Martian Man seeks a woman, a friend, companion.
My Lonely society... A difference... something different.
Not too smart or poetic. But my mind is different.
My Mom says "in time; time will be right."
I say that "in time -- I grow old."
The fear in relation to my lack of back bone.
The self-esteem that I can't hold.
I no longer hope.
A pity-party is thrown.
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I always felt that poetry was the discovery of how you felt and what you wanted others to know and then finding another way to ecpress it. To the woman who opened my eyes and unlocked a new chapter of poetry in me. Thank you, Mrs. Dawn Weeks.