Why, If

If seeing was believing.  Why, was I so blind.

If teasing was hurtful.  Why, could I not feel.

If sarcasm cut deep.  Why, did I not mind.

Walking wounded.  Why, have I not healed.

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Published by

kietie

Down in my basement, lined neatly on a shelf are handwritten notebooks chronicling my life. After years of writing, the experience became more of a burden then an important part of my day so I quit writing. Five years later I took up writing again. This time it was in the form of a blog which gave me a place to hang out after I lost my job. From there my blog content morphed into writing about my general contractor experience building our house. As my life experiences grew so did my blog.

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