Never a golden child, by a long shot.

Always on the cusp of achievement.

Doing the work that no one else is doing, or at least in the region.

Giving my voice power and making my thoughts come to life with prose.

Sometimes defeated, but reinvigorated by new challenges.

Thinking of my teachers wisdom from extraordinary people.

Each bestowing their own twists and turns of gaps and gifts.

No one is ever ordinary, once their story is heard.

A tough twink with an ear for big haired country music.

A blue haired poet.

That one guy who does ‘Freebird’ at the cafe.

A damsel in distress, but who also carries a switchblade.

A mother, a user and a magician all walk into a bar.

No they don’t, they prefer a coffee shop.

Searching for a place in a safe space.

Being served tea from a familiar face.

Finding that sense of ‘home’ away from home or the shelter.

Surfing down the streets of Gore Street, then surfing on late night couches.

Tomorrow brings a new day of might and misery.

Depending on who wakes up first to catch the worm, after first catching the bus.

Be bright to starve off the features of fright that goes bump in the dark in the crevices of our minds.

One more day as the students fell upon the barricades of social equity.

Our similarities are life and death.

It is what we do in between that time that creates us.

One more life of trenches and tight ropes.

Or glorious and sometimes unnoticed fortunate circumstances.

I jive my head to the beat of the drums within my heart.

Can you hear it?