Mi madre
Mother hands held me gently from the day I took my first breathe
Mother hands helped guide me as I took my first step

Mother hands held me close when the tears would start to fall
Mother hands were there to brush my teeth or straighten a wayward bow

Mother hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn’t always show

Mother hands helped holds the stars in place and encourage me to reach

Mother hands would clap cheer and praise
When I captured them at length

Mother hands would push me forward though not  down or in harms way

Mother hands would sometimes had to discipline to help bend this young tree
She would shape and frame me into all she knew I could be
Mother hands now are twisting with age and years of work
She needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt
Mother hands are more beautiful than anything can be
Each time I gaze upon them I get a thousand more reasons to love more than ever

When I close my eyes, all I see is
My family
My friends
My love
At the Center of my world
What I wouldn’t do for them
I open my eyes
Where are they?
Why are they so far from me
Knives keep stabbing me in the throat
Is this my new reality,
Or is my mind playing tricks on me again?

Dear poetry,

You've been my constant companion although sometimes I see you as a straight line drawn with a pencil and a ruler transecting the circles of the world or as a finger piercing smoke ring, casual and inquisitive.

In sickness and in health,
In depression and ecstasy,
In heartbreak and love,
You've given me a world of peace.
A world where composition; written or  spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative or elevated thoughts.

A world where I vent out without judgement.
Where i can be who I want to be and write what i desire. Where I peacefully inscribe and breath life to my imaginations with ink.

You've become my addiction, drifting me to peaceful oblivion where my sorrows come to pass and my joy evolve.

I can't take any action. Because your invention has become part of my composition.