Possum

I used to spend a lot of time in hotel rooms with a good friend of mine. The only constant was the flower patterned pillowcases. We would travel up and down the east coast contemplating our futures. I spent a lot of days and nights silently wondering where to put my life, how to make amends, how to bleed. Sunny days felt like somebody pressing warm daffodils against my skin and winter could not fade me.

These days I spend a lot of my time building walls. Perhaps it's bred from fear, perhaps it's resurrected from embers, but either way this voice deep inside myself tells me I am a faint reinvention of my earlier days. I am realizing my soul is not made of steel and this sweet spirit can break. It's sad. But, I believe that goodness still sleeps inside.

Oh possum, there's no time for pretending.