She brings black roses and moonlight fireflies like stars in her sky bare feet caress the dewy ground night blooming jasmine reaching up to brush

Reclaiming my inner badass at 50
She brings black roses and moonlight fireflies like stars in her sky bare feet caress the dewy ground night blooming jasmine reaching up to brush
unspoken words strung like mismatched pearls dangled delicately from the hinge of my jaw tasted lemon tart to my tentative tongue our future hung suspended
i long to paint but this unceasing palette of dirty whites of tired grays that lurks outside every window sucks the rich marrow from my
I have learned to wear solitude quietly an old quilt draped over sharp shoulder blades engulfed in threadbare patches of memory that I worry with lonely fingertips
i should brand myself a failure self-flagellate for failing to meet expectations of those who wear white coats shiny stethoscopes draped casually around necks I
i am a woman built of words it is not natural comfortable intuitive for me to tie my tongue tightly to choose silence to be
i do not speak with forked tongue yet you damn me a demon paint my hands blood red cut me black diamond hard innocent misunderstanding?
hyper- focus is an art i slip into words into screen until i am nothing. . . nothing but blinking cursor nothing but task decoded
poetry is oft written by those who love too much too freely hearts splayed open on sterile dissection trays cool stainless pins trapping vulnerable fluttering