Sunday.

I am infinity,
so are we.
Endangered poetry.

T.S. Eliot wrote that "April is the cruelest month," because of its awakening. "Winter kept us warm, covering/ Earth in forgetful snow..." But now our "memory and desire [are] stirring." With the melting of the cold, comes the waking of the truth. And then, there is no more hiding. Now: there is no more hiding.

Today I was humbled by the realization of my failings, again.

I was grateful for Amanda's bravery during her lesson, for how kind Stoph was while I was an emotional mess during sacrament, and the stability of my FHE kids sayin Heyyy Mama Shae.

In my mind, I saw a scene play out-- and realized how bad I wanted it.
The possibility was there, but not the result.

(T.S. Eliot wanted us to know:
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the shadow.)

I was also a full circle of my changes, of a cycle that I cannot let conquer me.

Today I knew I was not the villain.

I was inspired.

Today I remembered what this chance could do for me, and it helped me place all other emotions.


Before bed I had to write sentences,
with a disjointed space in between--
because I could not bring order to my words.

I am infinity,
so are we.
Endangered poetry.