The Most Beautiful People Are

Once Upon A Time . . . What Time Are We Upon And Where Do I Belong?

He Said, You're So Tiny, Like A Doll, You Look Like You Might Break. I Wanted Him To Break Me. Part Of Me Did.

She Wished She Had A Little Yellow House Of Her Own, With A Flower Box Full Of Real Flowers And Herbs – Pansies And Rosemary – And A Sweet Lover Who Would Swing Dance With Her In The Evenings And Cook Pasta And Read Poetry Aloud.

I Wrote Poetry From The Time I Could Write. That Was The Only Way I Could Begin To Express Who I Was But The Poems Didn't Make Sense To My Teachers. They Didn't Rhyme. They Were About The Wind Sounds, The Planets' Motions, Never About Who I Was Or How I Felt. I Didn't Think I Felt Anything. I Was This Mind More Than A Body Or A Heart. My Mind Photographing The Stars, Hearing The Wind.

I Believe We Recover From Loss By Facing The Loss, Grieving, Going Deep Inside Ourselves (hopefully With A Guide) And Re-emerging To Live And Love Again.