Like so much of what I wrote during this era, this reflects a powerlessness that was very real to me at the time.  I couldn’t see the connection between forcing things to be how I thought they “should be” and landing in the dumpster.

dumpster-do

the alley way of your mind

where you wait for the wind

to knock you down

get knocked out of you

where the other shoe never fits

always eventually drops

and where running leads

only to dark corners

blocked passageways

the perpetual dumpster

high heels skating

circles in the air

at the end of

lifeless legs. 

My art flows from the patterns & paths of my lived experience which ⏤ like yours ⏤ are at once deeply personal and entirely universal.

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