There once was a girl who lived at the Bottom,

beneath the Surreal, near the Foggy Forgotten,

a careening chasm of a careless core. 

She was quick with thoughts, but slow with actions,

too distracted by dreaming, diverting distractions,

those half-pigmented fragments of self-control.

She surrounded herself with good intentions,

but made no marks, no crude indentions,

and deeper she veered into her visceral lore.

She’d pick and she’d poke at those pot-holed ambitions.

She’d crinkle and crumple up crumpled directions

‘til the bottom was an ocean without room for shores. 

I started this…hmmmmm, 6+ months ago, with nothing but the beginning line continuously running through my head. It’s a blatant conversation with my self-disparagement and feelings of not being where I should be, though I know many can relate. Anywhoo, it’s far from finished, but figured I’d prove that I’ve yet to give up on my first love, Lady Poetry.