I am here,

writing as my mind skips like a scratched disc.

I delete words and start over.

Fragmented poems have disappeared

and I haven’t waved goodbye.

 

I am burying shame in its grave,

a deep frown on my face.

Let it go, I pray.

 

I am planting words in the ground,

watering them everyday,

waiting for poems to bloom.

I watch out my window,

my hands clasped under my chin.

 

I am checking the mail,

waiting for a letter from my dad.

The ghost of shame comes instead.

You scared him away.

 

I am not falling in the darkness today.

 

I am picking poems from their stems,

reading them out loud

and falling in love.

I am pasting them on the walls in my home

and in my memory.

I am not letting go

of hope.