This Isn't The Life

I ought to live. But it's mine. I hold close this life, reach out and

grasp it as it flutters and press it close to my chest, my heart beating

alongside it, making a new rhythm. I suffer, yes. Yes, I suffer. And I still

love nothing like I love myself. My life, stained orange like the tangerines

I feed the dog. I accept this living, let a slice dissolve on my tongue,

hold both the acid and sweetness. This isn't the life I sought out to live,

but I thank it, I'll anoint the day in fragrance and oils, all parts of its soft

and delicate shell. I am here with you, says your life. With my woes,

with my woes, with my woes and all the other parts. If you're reading

this, it don't end here. If you're reading this, it isn't too late.