Grey Area—A Life Poem

The scene: Me—in cardboard relief.
High heels and briefcase,
woman of worth lifted by the wind and placed anew.

A soul of congenital uncertainty, I ask:
How can I be enough?

The words don’t come but it’s okay.
Collected achievements negate the need to speak up.
That’s what I tell myself.

Creative output is my voice
screaming to kill off the monotonous predictability of old habits.

A zig zag path marked by deliberate lightning bolts
of quiet non-conformance.

Life’s limits are my grey area.
It’s harder when you know they’re not real.



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