Poem by Doniell Cushman
My first heart was broken so many times
I couldn't bear to identify it
And when I returned to do a teaching observation at my old high school
Choir-man remembered me as
the girl who was always crying
My first heart questioned "why me?"
I no longer do
I've chosen what to care about and it's no longer over why
Philosophy asks why
Philosophers ask why not
I simply ask how
And when I really want or need it when I ask
My new heart asks how
© Doniell Cushman. All Rights Reserved. This poem or any portion thereof
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All rights reserved by Doniell Cushman.