The Good

I am regretful
that I wasted good love,
good emotion,
True heart and blood
on something
that was a farce
from the start.
But I am rejoicing
that things within
were given voice,
and birthed…
I bloom and
the Flower awakens.

Her fragrance is her writing,
and I shall forever write
until there is
no more need of words…
I am glad
for the poems that were born,
I am glad
for the rants that cathartically
revealed fractures and
flaws in me,
all around me…
I am glad
for the recounting
and expiation of
telling my story…
I am glad
for the chance
to opine to myself and
clarify my own thinking
to myself.

I am a blooming
of the roots of Grace…
Charis Kiss

Yes…I love
The Good

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My Self Esteem

It’s a fragile thing, proper self esteem.
I’ve never really had any as
I didn’t really have a true core
and solid sense of who I was.

Knowing I was one thing inside,
while everything around me
telling me I was another thing
is really diminishing and corrosive.
But since wondrous and very miraculous revelation
that I am not crazy,
or a freakshow,
or evil,
I have found self esteem
sneaking its shy mischievous head
well above the ground
soil of my soul,
and it has at first frightened me,
then puzzled me, and then
at last delighted me.
It makes me giddy,
and its fragrance is intoxicating!

But…
It is like a dandelion, like a snow flake.  It is here, delicate, beautiful, but fragile and fleeting.
The slightest breath, the slightest ray of warmth, and
poof
drip
gone.

Mama,
I pray that Your
Love and Comfort
would be in me
a Redwood of confidence,
an iceberg of self esteem.
After all,
how can I love
my neighbor as myself
if I am shapeless and void?

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