American Chestnut The American chestnut is long gone, that doesn’t stop me from hoping in its thunderous limbs. I’m compassion; I’m not compassion. It’s all clinging to thinkings, like: how I think someone how I think I should be. This is the me that pisses; this is the me that reads Buddhist psychology; this is the me that kisses you; this is the me that thinks and thinks and thinks, this is the me that places the revolver to the roof of my mouth to silence the: "this is the me." This is the me that hasn't gone the way of the American Chestnut – extinct. Yet... one day at time this is the me that survives hour by hour. This is me that hopes you do too.
© SB Joy, 2022
I wrote this in 2017. I felt this yesterday. Some days, weeks and years, are harder than others. One day at a time. I am a testament to putting one foot in front of the other. Some days it feels impossible to survive. I get that, that was yesterday, that has been so many days and I am here, sharing with you. I hope to see you tomorrow.SB Joy