Bare spots...

There's a hole in my soul
like a withered bare patch
in the lawn outside my door

Killed like the grass
by the decisions I've made--
piss-poor; yet those patches
are just acidic with waste

I don't pretend I can fix it
regrow it,
even accept it,
but I know that I can eventually
adapt to it.

I will make a path, a new way,
through the lawn of my life.
I will turn that bare-worn spot
into a stepping stone to better places.

My soul is not whole, but that's okay.
My path is not built, but it will be someday.

guest appearance because I can't revive my own blog this way