They called her crazy an attempt to freeze her with jeers, never understanding that she chose to avoid too much comfort. Empathy would always be her closest friend. Arm in arm, they would walk in sandals through November frost. Warmed only by desire for connection. A step toward those who had no shoes. © Ali Grimshaw 2020
You must lose things to find them. Rip to repair, slip to find out, who you return as. Tumble through trials be torn away from the known to evolve stronger. You must reach your own hand be burned unjustly to hear my scar's story. © Ali Grimshaw 2020 dVerse Poets Pub - Quadrille #105 "Slip"
many dismissed, their
misplaced judge undervalues
beauty of the worn
© Alicia Grimshaw 2018