sometimes I feel neverending
sometimes I feel very small
today was a small day.
the little piece of paper
on the end of the tea bag
read me a poem
to make me feel better.
she sang, ‘grace is reality’
and I asked, ‘what is poetry anyway’
and she continued to sing ‘grace is reality’
because that is her eternity of knowledge.
I wondered if she existed in anyone else’s universe
and if another person thought to themselves,
‘hey, that’s a good one’
before tossing her in the trash.
a muffled cry from the garbage can
rings in my ears
and bounces from wall to wall
‘poetry is not just writing a feeling
it’s the act of feeling.’
whatever that means.