Ye possess a beauty innate
far surpassing my deepest efforts
and most twisted machinations,
for I have being in living flesh sensate,
I dwell in alchemical dirt miracle
While you, though made of stone
find shape and form that fits you fair
and curve that matches moons and stars
and softness that my soul sings of in air,
and sadness choked and stifled by me, dirt and stone.
you are carved, a statue, stuck and still
and yet are one, while I am severed in this chill,
never knowing unified connection
with myself and peace within the nill.
alas and not a lass, that’s me
and you? mere shackles hold you
that one day you can break or be delivered from
by some grave Odysseus or Hercules,
someone with the boldness to forgive you
i would trade plights with you in a millisecond
Charissa's Grace Notes 
“While you, though made of stone
find shape and form that fits you fair
and curve that matches moons and stars
and softness that my soul sings for in sadness
yet choked and stifled by dirt and stone.
you are carved, a statue, stuck and still
and yet you are one while I am severed
from ever knowing unified connection
with myself and peace.”
Do you truly believe this?
Or is it the “finality” of this present moment speaking?
i cannot answer that right now, Dani…i am so sorry about that.
this is where i have been, and am…and without even being able to get the medicine i need for overcoming this sickness, how in the world shall i ever have even hope of walking this road and finding some degree of freedom, liberation.
the ‘poem’ (i am ashamed to call it that, it is mostly just the upchuck of my sorrow) is my truth right now, in fullness and seeming finality.
it has been an incredibly trying week and i am defeated
In attempting not to answer, you answered.