I sometimes feel I am wearing my grief. It hangs over my head and slips down my face and pushes on my shoulders. Can you see it? Can you tell? I think I can see it on other faces. The ones who forgot to brush their hair or put on a smile. I wish that we still worn black arm bands to let the world know, don’t look too close, don’t expect too much, don’t mind my tears.
Grief
Published by
Buzzy Donahue
I grew up in San Francisco in the 60's. I lived in a world of sex, drugs and rock and roll. After a long stretch working on my tan I have joyfully found my way back to radio. Because you can't fight it; when it's in your blood. I play music on KPTZ.org. View all posts by Buzzy Donahue
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