It was the voices they were fighting
Not you
The ones that kept them on the front line
Always poised; armed; for an attack
Once you understand
Just how irrelevant "you" really were
That you could have said and done a million different things
That wouldn't have mattered,
That their demons weren't yours to fight
Once you understand
It wasn't ever your responsibility
To make them feel worthy of love
To change their mind; change their heart
That their promises were always meant to betray
Despite you
Despite your effort
That you were just another figurine
Placed on some overfilled shelf
That held their every failed opportunity
To overcome; break free; win
Once you understand
That to them you were an enemy
That you signified future pain
That must be pre-empted,
That you could never shine enough light
To light their way
And that they never wanted you to
That you were just collateral damage
Once you truly understand those things
Your heart begins too heal.
Your soul finds forgiveness.
You find a way to keep loving them,
While you let them go.
Yes, you will hurt
You will cry; bargain; beg.
But in the end
You will be "you" again.
And that is a beautiful thing.

In prison
when you have no
money, and you can't
buy commissary, and
the hours and the days drag by
like a tortoise searching
a garden.
It's the little things that
make the time bearable.
Someone gives you a package of
noodles or a cup of coffee,
or a bar of good soap.
Kindness in hell goes a long way.
It's the simple pleasures that
I took for granted
that I relish now:
Steaming hot water,
a bed with a real mattress,
and a library with thousands
of books to read.
I have writing paper,
ink pens, and reading glasses to
see with; it could be worse.