At The Keys Is My Key Poem by Doris Cornago

Fights we choose are not meant to make
Us a recluse, but should make us grow
Hindsight is owning up to my faults
Hatchet buried, daughter of Thor
Thought was the crossfit victor
Maybe that's never me at all
Lessons earned when you
Kept with me like a wind
Stressfuly, mindlessly
Tugging at your toy
Fingers almost cut
By razor-sharp
Wires, tongue
Lashing out
Fingers
Sharp
At the
Keys
Mind
Pulls
Resist
Tirelessly
You held up
Made your mind
Up about me, the wind
So free, learning to harness
Takes kindness, firmness, but yes
Effervescence can't be contained in
Old wineskin, bursting out must be tempered
In wooden cask, allowed to breathe, never bottled