This was that poem I wrote the day after I found out.
That day I sat down at the Kirkland Marina watching the sunset,
All I had was a crumpled McDonald's receipt and a pen
And it was too perfect not to write something
So I wrote a horrible poem
Freedom can hurt sometimes
You're so comfortable in bondage that being transplanted into freedom hurts like hell
But then you open your eyes
You start to accept that
This is here.
This rain is actually not a metaphor of your tears
But an outpouring,
A cleansing of the dirt,
The mud that was weighing you down
The sunsets are more beautiful after the rain
The skies are clearer
The city lights twinkle brighter
Now time(?) doesn't feel like you should feel alone
Now adventure is your own
----
The choice was made
Find your own voice
Find your own song
(?) Sometimes I can't read my own handwriting
- D
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