He counted the moles covering her skin
As he brushed away the cloth that hid what’s within
And for once
She did not feel the shame
Of scars she cared not name
Enough
She admired the bird flying free
The rooted tree
Yet she knew she wouldn’t want to be
Anything other than herself
To her
She was just enough
Perception
They mistook ignorance for courage
A child chasing fires thinking they
were fireflies
Innocence of a hand that’s never been burned
One that hasn’t learned that everything dies
Soul
The world is ending
Can’t you tell
They stole her sun
They dried her well
The moon is lonely
The days are dark
And I am watching
A tiny spark
Daring to call itself a flame
You know it by a different name
Pyre
There were ugly things crawling in her reality
Nightmares becoming a background noise
She turned a blind eye to so many
And became blind all at once
As the pyre lit
She stood thankful for its warmth
Ballerina
She lacked a sewing kit
To piece herself back together
The threads ran free
She looked for a lost tether
As she unraveled
She knew She might get lost
And what another move could cost
She spun
Until she vanished in thin air
The ballerina could no longer care
About what tied her to this realm
And she set herself free
From all of them
Of threads too thin and shoes too tight
The ballerina still dances through the night
On a stage of her own making
October
She loved Halloween.
A time she could truly be herself.
Her wings didn’t have to be cramped inside her jacket, her antennas under her damp hat.
The fairy could be one of many, enjoying decorations reminiscent of her old land. With glaring errors, but nonetheless, she feels a bit more at home. In October.
Rearranged
She felt it
Every now and then
The shiver
The thrill within
As she read words
Or saw some art
She knew
She had to be a part
Of a life worth living
Art that’s thrilling
So she wrote on
Hoping to be remembered
For borrowed words
Rearranged
I Stand With
I sit
A comfortable distance
From the violence
Listening to bias news
How could I truly choose
Between one death or another
Murder of a child or a mother
Humans trying to survive
If you can stand
Then stand for life
The Lake Creation
She was an ocean
Feeding a calm river
She was a storm
That he wanted to weather
She was essential for his survival
In his eyes
She had no rival
So he decided to live on
Making friends with the waves
Memories with the whales
Befriending the creatures of her own creations
Until she became a lake
Feeding a small nation
The Numbers Publishing 