Some days are more taxing than others

Whereas over time the reality of life catches up

Whether we’ll like it or otherwise   

And I’m left feeling the aches and pains of my fabric

Folded over and over until folds depict me

New creases lay waste to my once pristine essence

I’m worn beyond my previous recognitions

I resemble a misused piece of paper less any message

My past beholders manipulated me as nothingness  

Because that was my only true purpose for them

I became a blind exercise than an appreciation

Leading me to my real point about their ego ignorance  

My message was obvious to only the passionate

A heart’s value is secretly written… beneath the surface


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV on Pexels.com


4 thoughts on “Lemonaid

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