It Was Pitch Black, Once
I Cried For Breakfast, Lunch, & Dinner
I Wrote Grief Poems as Snacks
I Even Exercised in the Name of Sadness
But Being Blue was No Comfort
So, I Picked My Pitiful Butt Up and Stood in Light
There Were Still Tears
Light Dried Those
Light Listened
Light Spoke Much Needed Truths
Light Was the Son
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