I wrote this while I was upstate. I originally intended this to be a poem, but as I was writing, I didn’t really pay attention to meter or anything, so I don’t know if I can still classify it specifically as a poem. I’ll leave that up to you. I’m not a big fan of it. I think it’s a giant, cliche-filled mess, but I’m posting it on the off chance that one of you may actually like it.

 

Tell the Tale

What’s left but to enjoy

the life you made for yourself,

the life that you never thought

would play out the way it did?

It played out that way

–if you’re wondering why–

because you let it.

Each moment,

even the ones you let go by,

had some meaning,

even if it was nothing,

which is always something.

What you thought

was the worst day of your life,

was just something  to let you know

what it’s like to hurt,

and what hurt really is,

so one day, when that good finally comes,

you know it’s good because

you got through the bad

and lived to tell the tale.