It starts with an idea

A giggle

A smile

She thinks of ways to capture, describe

She thinks of the simple joy

Of sharing


Or perhaps

She thinks

Her ideas, profound

Healing, helping



Yet underneath

A shadow, nervously paces

Does this not grow at the root of things?

Acceptance by tribe?

Will she be run out


Ostracized to empty, dry deserts

Hung from barren branches

Left to rot

Picked apart by beak and claw?


Or will she be welcomed, celebrated

Will she

In this big bad world

Have the networks

To survive



Yearning for your hearts

But ultimately, it’s reason

Just another version

She’s a puppet

To ancient, gossamer feelings


Connect me

The desires are primal

The desires are real


She’s posted, laughing


After a moment

One moment

A breath

The Silence…


The pacing

Her racing




**If you’d like to check out my first endeavors with creating a podcast with my poetry find it here:

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