I feel way too humble,
To weave all these things,
With this pen of mine!

I entertain the magical flame with these hands.
There is no clutch.
No corner.
Everything is the same.

In all these scrapbooks:

Flowers I have liked.
Flowers I have seen.
Flowers I desired.
Flowers that itched.
Flowers that burnt.

I wonder what was mine?

I smile like a baby
When I am around you
From the pleasure
Of you being there
Beside me
And when you look at me
I try to hide it
Because I am shy.

Did you know  
that clipped wings  
grow new feathers 

and soon enough,  
birds can soar
again.

Visible
Invisible
Its aura.

Wrapping
And unwrapping me.

Once in a while
Made of electric.
In blue tissue

My fractal flower.

It is not necessarily the way you might want it to be
It is what it is, and others must be considered,
Beloveds too
Narcissists are not welcome, and their insults are ignored
Sometimes a permanent Goodbye is necessary
Sometimes you can't shake it off
Going back may not work.
It is the way it is
It is the way it is
Very necessary to accept the status quo
Despite your opinion
The Way it is
Not for others to understand, but they must accept it

I wish fragments were anonymous.
Tear up my name.
I am way too clumsy.
Way too mortal,
For their fleeting grace.