Original Poetry, Original Writing

Dear, You

Instead of giving me a torch
and assuming I’ll find my way
out of the darkness
and into the light
that awaits me at
the end of the tunnel,
he held my hand
and helped me grow accustomed
to my blindness
until I wasn’t afraid
of the darkness
anymore.

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Original Poetry

Just when I’m learning

how to climb out of the abyss

I threw myself down all that

time ago,

he threw down a rope ladder.

The edges were frayed,

the fabric worn,

unsteady. Unreliable.

16 steps up and

he

let

go.

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