It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.

I look across the table
at my beautiful husband,
his olive face gazing back at me
intently.

Suddenly,
his face starts dripping like wax and he screams
"¡Querida mía, ayúdame!"
I rushed over to his side of the table
and tried to stop the spillage with a napkin but he slipped away.
All I could hear now were his muffled attempts to call out for help.

I buried him that day over by the tree where we met.
I just wish that he didn't see the horror on my face as he melted away from me,
like a **candle.

Sister, do you know
that everyone says that behind my back?
That I am nothing, that I am bad at everything?

They ignore me. The friends that I thought I had were just shells and façades with a burning interior whose goal was to engulf me in their flames.
To extinguish my flame.

Everyday is a silent battle for me,
don't you know this already?!
Why do you think I eat so much?
Only food can attempt to fill in the gaping hole in my heart where good friends should be.

So when you say,
"Nobody loves you"
the hole is dug deeper and deeper.

You hold the shovel.
You can choose to dig it deeper
or perhaps fill it in.
Your choice.

Your sister,
Wistful Wanderer

Check under the bed,
in the closet, on the floor,
in the garbage, through the window
and even out the door.

*I need to find myself.