I’m taking scraps of poems from the notes section on my phone.
I have nothing of interest to say.
There is nothing profound here.
I feed my words through elections
smarter than me and hope they can
provide some insight. Maybe one day
supported suggestions will provide
the answers I’ve been seeking.
I made this.
It is my work–it is wholly me.
But I give it to you.
Let this be my lasting contribution.
Does this count?
Is this enough?
If I can put my hand to anything before I leave,
please let it be this.
Please let me share it.
This is my surrendering–
will my words bear the weight?
Of all the things I haven’t said,
or needed to and didn’t,
or tried to and failed.
Will my waiting end forgive me
for all I have not done?
If the world stops here,
then, in this moment, I have succeeded.
I have indulged this strangest of love affairs–
to what end I do not know–
but I have found it all worthwhile.