
Part of my poetry collection, Margins of the First Draft — this was actually a newer thought or poem that incorporated into this one. I remember the line originated from the Dead Poet thing I had going on and it was supposed to be a part of the Six-Sentence Story but I couldn't connect the thought well enough.
18. Digging her own Grave
" Yes, writing poems about him... was a luxury... I couldn’t afford"
Poetry on the Margins #18 I wish
Sometimes I wish my writing was more of a
punch to the gut,
because I am
violent like that.
Yet, I feel it's always either
too sad
or too mushy

Perhaps I could invite you to read more of my work:
If you like short stories I have them scooped up into one category (including the six-sentence stories).
Or perhaps I could interest you in poetry and refections or something more personal like the Blog.
I also happen to own an IT studies blog in Estonian and "Chaos in Spring" can be listened to on YouTube, Spotify and other streaming services.


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