the past never forgets
but I am supposed to forgive?
a new opera grows from old roots,
fear is near and dear to my heart,
but I got my confidence back
somewhere along the Venice Beach boardwalk,
and my humor is returning, as well.
anxiety is a backseat driver, no longer at the wheel,
and I am only here to do one thing: heal.
we pick broken people to love,
buy ripped jeans,
keep broken clocks in kitchens for days and decades,
because we are too broken
to change the way the world looks.
Everything – even the past – is
in front of me.