I wrote 4.5 poems today. I think it’s because I sang in the shower – singing is the only time I don’t mind being loud, making noise. So I sang the songs of my angsty teenage years and let the nostalgia heal something in me. And once dressed in my pjs, curled up on the couch, I found the words came easier. Maybe all it takes is permission to speak, even to myself. Permission to utter the words aloud – out, loud. To be heard, if only by my own ears. Here’s one of the poems I wrote based on @beausia’s prompt: CHRONIC

an unrelenting

experience of

peaks and valleys

and plateaus,

change the only constant

time the only god

that hears no prayers

and a body

both strong and fragile

like a mind

they say the condition is

chronic, fatal even

and the only cure,

is love