What a year it has been. I’m sure all the words have been said about it. Here’s my contribution anyway. At the risk of sounding insensitive, my 2020 was as restful as it was stressful. For the longest time, I’ve been saving for shelves for my books, a room that functioned well, and equipment to support my considerably moderate goals. Or should I say “trying to save up”? In any case, it had taken…

I feel like it’s been forever since I wrote a letter into the void. I’ve been doing morning pages (or afternoon or evening, it really depends lol), so that might have shaved off of that normally desperate need for a while. But it’s been a few days since I opened my particular notebook for it and I’ve not been very motivated to write about what inspires and what I’m grateful for the day.

Today,…

I think they mean parasitic When they declare a person Isn’t good for you.

All the while seeing only Themselves as the final Benefactor — thanks to pain.

Your pain. My pain. Who knows? So long as It’s not their own.

After all, long enough Have they seen themselves In that dark pit of claws

And it is high time They get their due, no Matter the consequences.

It is all in their favor; But I say…

Shadows are easier To see in the dark

Easier to fear and To hate above all

And to forget that we Need the dark to see.

Despite how difficult —  For even a glimpse

Of a faraway land In natural light

Is already a dream — It’s one we all want.

Many are driven mad, But the lucky ones

Must first embrace the dark To let in the light

Follow A Box of Gales on Social Media for shits…

An in-between is a good place to start. Mine is bookended by peace and quiet And by faster-and-fastest pace.

It has made me an in-between person, with A thirst for the finer things and A proclivity for the simple ones.

This in-between place is my hometown, Made up of old walls of infinite dust And nameless, beaten-down streets.

Oh, the stories these walls and these streets Could tell, of the…

An ancient door carved With ancient spells; What secrets do you hold? And what spells could I conjure?

Dormant spirits and sleeping blood; Magic beans do little to Alleviate these symptoms of Uneasy rest and fitful turns

How strange to be pulled Into action and activity But all the while desperate To curl up and lie still instead

What are the secrets to Building muscle and strengthening bones? What…

It’s not the blank page that I fear It’s not even fear that keeps me away

I am consumed by the thought That no matter the strain or the strife, These will never live up to this… This ancient obsession, This cyclical old thing.

How could I possible compete against dead bones, And especially against the devastating tide of new ones?

Then there are my lucky stars, who’s Praises I’ve built a habit…

There are days when I miss The shadow I once kept close Firmly beneath my feet,  A darling companion

Not once did I expect this, A me that existed apart from My oldest friend; All only bitter or only delight

But as in all tragedies, my shadow Was set in its tireless ways. Its only other friend was gravity And one it would never, ever leave.

All it took was an unforgiving heart So I bid my shadow…

The smile of a friend from across the way The hug you hesitated to take The tears you refused to shed, and The pain that remained afterward

The wanting something to last forever, but The knowing that it won’t The desperation to remember, and The frustration that all memory is fleeting

So you embrace the emotion, and Let it overtake and overwhelm you If you can’t have it forever, Could you at least…

What a wondrous oddity, Secret words spoken to secret friends A quiet joy unshared, Sparing the audience of one.

What wondrous magic Fashioned into a common novelty Manufactured for the millions Caterwauling into the void.

What a wondrous vandalism Of age old musings and ruminations Spawned, spit out, and put on display All in imploration, “Is anyone listening?”

What wondrous revolution, Hidden…

I like to think I’ve always been wise Never to fear growth Though it takes accepting change, Which always gives me pause Because I have known pain Through the goodbyes I refused to say And the see-you-laters I eventually embraced.

But I’ve learned enough to know That, while the grass is nearly never greener, There’s something in it for everyone, That I can trust it will be for the better, And that the…

“It was the nightingale, and not the lark,” Shakespeare’s way of saying Five minutes more His way of stretching out the dark.

I could never decide which I preferred, Wide-eyed and awake With the brightness of the day Or with the gentle hoots of the evening bird.

Whichever way it goes, I know when I’m writing this Just at the last minute, Unsure, but let’s see where the wind blows.

Exactly as you…