A ROOM WITHOUT CHAIRS

The words on the door said Only rule: Don’t sit with sinners And it was a room without chairs Just a room full of people Thousands pointing at each other Arms tired Fingers bloodied and raw Stitching scarlet letters Onto wrinkled, worried foreheads Everyone wore one None could read their own They called it justice…

TRUST THE PROCESS

Somewhere in the middle it stops making sense. The painting turns muddy. The story forgets where it was going. The project looks nothing like the vision that kept me tossing and turning at night. I think this is where I most feel like quitting. Not because I can’t do it but because it no longer…