One Part Philosopher, One Part Artist
A Poem
I have sat with truth
like an old woman at a bus stop,
picking at the hem of its coat,
asking too many questions.
I have cracked open wisdom
like a fortune cookie,
laughed at the neat little slip inside,
tossed it, and written my own.
I have chased beauty
like a raccoon in a jewelry store,
grubby hands grabbing at light,
stuffing my pockets with glimmers
of something that almost makes sense.
I have painted meaning
onto the side of a barn,
only for the rain to wash it clean—
so I start again, knowing
it was never about permanence anyway.
I have held contradiction
like a bird with two wings beating
in opposite directions—
somehow still managing to fly.
And in the morning,
when the sun spills into the room
like a late guest at a dinner party,
I will do it all again—
not because I must,
but because there is no other way to be.