Needle and thread at my fingertips, I weave the tapestry of my life. Scars, witnesses to my resilience, Bruises, reminders of my healing, Heart, stronger but bleeding, Life, calming but clouded with pain, Ocean, stormy but destined for tranquility.
The future, a canvas waiting to be painted, Though my plans may not adhere to my design. Sometimes I yearn to flee, But life’s grip is firm, demanding patience.
So I wait, darkness my companion, Four walls my sanctuary. Until we meet again, I leave you my whispering poems, Thoughts to ponder and reflect upon.
I am a poet, my soul a fertile ground, Where poetry blooms like wildflowers unbound.