there’s a place . . .
made just for me . . .
it’s in the back . . .
in the dark . . .
in an empty corner . . .
it’s my place . . .
they call it alone . . .
where smiles are never shared . . .
laughter never heard . . .
warm embraces never felt . . .
just emptiness from being ignored . . .
no praise for poetic words . . .
or for the crafted art . . .
alone with haunted thoughts . . .
beads of salted drops, on my brow . . .
mingling with the flow of my tears . . .
lonely and hard to be comforted . . .
I settled in well . . .
to know, to be, and live by faith . . .
takes courage when stress . . .
keeps knocking at my door . . .
learning to be still and be . . .
©Kimberly Wilhelmina Floria