i am reborn every morning
when i rise expecting
good things from the day
getting my dose of raw reality
as the day moves along
by nightfall i crawl into bed
remembering i have been through
this kind of thing before
the almighty identity crisis
every six or seven years
it comes without fail
i am uncomfortable feeling this frail
knowing i may change on the inside
or rearrange things on the outside
i should be used to it by now
my only consolation is in knowing
i will come out of it
stonger and more self-assured than beforehand
written 11-11-05
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love your stuff. Fabulous, truly. Your only fault is: its is posessive, it's is 'it is' contraction. Minor flaw, I really love your diction, your passion, your sensibility.