She walks with me,
quietly alongside,
taking my hand when I'm scared,
and when I'm wild
giving me freedom to fly.

She holds my tears in her palm,
encourages me to stay strong,
lifts the darkness when I'm dreary
and fights my demons when I fall.

She's part angel,
part friend,
part mother,
part zen,

she is warrior,
inner peace,
she is love,
she is me.

On cracked pavement
I walk,
slow and
cautious,
fearful
of falling,

of having to
pick myself up
again.

You left
your dirt
at my door

and when I tried to
sweep you away,
tears fell,
making mud.

How typical,
I sighed,
your filth and
my cries --

the rancid glue that
stains lives.

Along this path
she's had to greet

angels and demons,
truths and lies,
all of which mirror
the Self she's disguised.

Yet she battles,
ferocious
to conquer her path;

she is alchemy,
warrior,
the fire to your match.

Raindrops crash the pavement,
my window,
my mind,
an acoustic sound so loud
it drowns
my tears,
my cries,

and in this moment I'm free
to be
one with the chaos outside.