Cuts and Bruises

Picture By Karen West

I’ve spent rainstorms underneath bridges,
have begged for money from strangers,
all of the poverty stricken weekends have
put me on this Wednesday train ride.

I’m aware of where I’m going, who I’ll see, but not of what the soil feels like under my feet,
or who I’m resurrecting from the shadows.

I’ve found love, or did it choose to find me?
I don’t dare be that presumptuous, thinking I deserve it.

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