her many faces

I started writing face first and no one turned to look.  

I could have died.  I could have lost myself beyond myself and beneath victory.  But I didn't.   I flew past the banter and the giggles that followed my cheap rhymes.  They whispered to each other and finished my sentences behind their cloth napkins.  Follow your heart my soul said from next door.  Dance.  Always be moving forward.

Could death be so gruesome as to break the flooring.  

To burn my stage like a fifty dollar bill.  I have no patience for death.  It chases me.  

Stagnancy is death.  Worry is death.  Regret is death.  Failure is not death.  

Failure is okay.  It isn't the end, that's for sure.

Photo collage by Fred Watford.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.