Tao Happens (Poetry)
Writing poetry is easy until you decide to share it. Then it becomes an agonizing striptease, a removal of the veils that conceal your deepest flaws. You’re on a stage that suddenly feels too big, with lights that are too bright, wondering why in the hell you even thought about doing this. Insecurity clots in your throat as that last bit of illusion, that last wisp of protection hits the floor. So you stand there with your soul showing, holding your breath waiting for applause, rotten tomatoes or worst of all, utter indifference.