Hopeful

[Oceantide]

Eight years ago, she saw us.
We’d never been seen before.
Except by those who’d hurt us.
So, our “selves” we did deplore.
---
Be seen or not be seen.
Was not even a choice.
Yet isolation brings despair.
We wanted still to live.
---
This poem it is not pretty
But neither is our life.
What matters is surviving.
And that she helped us do.
----
Now NL is retiring.
As all “nice ladies” do.
And yet, it still, it shocks us.
Yet we search for others too.
---
We search for those that see us.
For those that see us wholly.
For those that have the knowledge.
Of how to help with healing.
----
My selves they live in tandem.
My selves they hear the tune.
Of those that know their story.
Of those who refuse to swoon.
----
Ha-ha! There is the poet!
Out front there, pushing rhymes.
The rhymes may not be pretty.
But living turns on dimes.

[Scars]

[[[[[[[[[[((((((((( Oceantide)))))))))]]]]]]]]]]]

[Watercolor]

Nice work here, oceantide. I hope it felt cathartic or at least expressive to get your words down.

[Oceantide]

Thank you, Scars and Watercolor. Hope you are both well.