I stopped highlighting here because my soul is highlighting every word of this poem.

I read Kant and didn’t understand a damn word,
and Nietzsche just made me want to burn down
the world. I chased the saints, the sinners, the poets
of madness, but not even Ezra could ease my
obsessiveness, my search for forgiveness,
the only common word in a thousand books 
on the resurrection of damaged souls… but nowhere 
to be found in this world. Maybe Hemingway was right,
all paths lead to an old man and shotgun.
Forgiving Myself for Being Me
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Thomas Plummer
Jenine Bsharah Baines
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Dec 13, 2022
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I stopped highlighting here because my soul is highlighting every word of this poem. I LOVE IT. Just love it.
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Written by Jenine Bsharah Baines3K Followers
·683 Following
J…Jen…Jeni…Jenine... Proper names are poetry in the raw. (W.H. Auden) Poet, singer, seeker, hippie grandmother gleefully revealing herself
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