Mothers come gently to our rooms, the sunset kiss on the forehead,
Woven homilies from their baskets of forgiveness and spools of yarn.

But for the grave, this heart its coiled sunset unspools, so long entwined
In woods and seas that redden now into the soul of all sunsets combined.

Rain slowly seeps into my soul
Gathering gently at my pores
Slowly wandering, searching
for any life of creativity
A blank canvas awaiting a
stroke of color
Coloring out of bounds
No Lines, boarders,
or limitations
With only the power of a
pen. Control is given over
Free falling endlessly
repeatedly
No longer the beholder

-A Black Girl Untold