Never underestimate
a woman.

My sisters and I were born with
the midnight sky
and the morning sunrise
Brewing in our eyes.

Our hearts burn bright
With loose embers of the fires
That tried to burn our kin.

Our fingertips stretch out far
To touch the spirits of those
Who walked the path before us.

Our bellies ache
For the fruit from the forbidden tree
That men told us we cannot touch.

Our toes tingle
As they carry us to places
We once thought only possible in dreams.

Our minds swell
With knowledge and wisdom
That men can only wish to comprehend.

Women are magic. ✨

Pitch black.
Ignorant to the world existing outside.
The only thing that lives, is us.
You’re holding onto me.
My hands slide around your smooth yet strong arms.
Safe.
The heat of your breath dances across my face.
My lips tingle in the tango.
Pulling me in.
Intoxicating.
The absence of light,
Illuminating the essence
Of two people,
Engraving each bump and curve.
For a moment, the earth is noiseless.
With a gray blanket of shielded armor,
We’re perfectly protected
In this beautiful moment.
With your head on my chest,
You feel my heart,
Softly
Beating.
I’ve never had these feelings before.
These feelings for you.
Falling.
Slowly.
Then all at once.

My arms.
I see two stuffed sausages waiting to burst at the seams.
You see the arms that wrapped around you
the day you lost Ben.

My hands.
Dry and small, like Forget-Me-Nots wilting in the winter frost.
You see the hands that helped to discover
our secret handshake.

My hair.
A messy nest unfit for robins.
You see the loose locks that you sweep
behind my ears to free my face.

My cheeks.
Prone to red bumps like a ripe raspberry.
You see the opportunity for your lips
to softly trace my uneven skin.

My thighs.
The worst part of me.
With stretch marks carved deeper than the Grand Canyon.
You see the legs that intertwined with yours for
warmth, while our minds slowly fade to
delicious dreams of the future.

Who knew all the bad parts of me,
were my favorite parts of you.

I’m seven. My little sister by my side,
at all times. Partners in crime.

Summer afternoons blend into cool nights.
Carefree and light.

Mom calling us to come Home.
Oh, but how we wished to still roam.

The street was ours.
We’d beg our father to let us look at the stars.

I’m twelve. Never did we think,
that in the blink

of an eye
we’d have to say goodbye,

to the Home we once knew,
and there’s nothing we can do.

Because Loretta is sick.
But with you as my sidekick,

I’ll always be at Home.

Sixteen.
Destined by your own delicate hands to never
grow old. Long dark brown hair that was often swooped
effortlessly into a ballerina bun. Permanently
sun kissed skin.
Always light
on your toes, as though you pirouetted through life.  
Forever innocent.
A mind so brilliant, so beyond
your limits.
You were my
best friend. Sisters, we would say.
Ever since the second grade, we were undoubtedly,
firmly codependent on one another.
How?
I ask myself,
did I let you fall so simply?
Angelic in life and
whatever may come after.
But for four years now, I’ve foraged in the depths of
my mind, hoping to find an explanation for why
this happened.
Why do these horrible things happen
to us?
You unknowingly taught me that those we love the most
are the ones who leave the deepest scars.
I had spent a long time
hating you.
Hating you for doing
what you did;
how you left us here.
But how can I hate someone who was so
broken inside?
I can’t.
I hate myself,
for only seeing the
perfect, porcelain twirling doll that I put
up on my mantel.
And when that delicate doll fell,
the only one to blame
was fate.

Tears…so many tears after my best friend
died. I was 17. Light brown, coarse hair from my
puppy snuggled up to me each night. Crumbs
from many late-night dinners, coupled with
doing homework until the sun peaks
through the sleepy darkness.
My mom’s old white tennis shoes, falling
apart at the seams. Bobby pins.
Snoozed alarms. Text messages I didn’t want
to say goodnight to. Screams,
from that nightmare that felt all too real.
Tears…so many tears. The nightlight I kept
on ever since then. Books. Stories. Adventures.
Gatsby’s blind love. Harry finally defeating his demons.
The matching sock I didn’t have time to find. Dust.
Lots of dust. The phone call when her grandmother died.
My wandering mind dreaming of what the future might hold. Poems,
written and read. The dizzy night I told you
“stay,” and I let you have what you
wanted. Then you told me, “I’m not ready for
a girl like you.” Tears…so many tears.
My mother’s constant disapproval of
me, and my time spent
wasted in her hazel eyes.
Countless nights I wished you
laid with me under my cold lavender sheets.
Misplaced earring backings. Baby blue nail polish dripped.
Bittersweet dreams of a future with you. My puppy’s hidden
treats that he forgot once existed. Phantoms.  
Monsters. Phone calls and Facetime’s that felt like
a moment frozen, but lasted hours. That bright pink
Homecoming dress my mother said I looked
heavy in. Tears…so many tears. Darkness. Months later when you
came back, sleeping peacefully next to me. Forgiveness. Hope.
All the boys I thought were worth my time. Love.

You.

It’s always been you.

He balances the sweet in my tea perfectly.

He looks at me with those blue eyes, adoringly.

He runs his hand down my back ever so softly.

He talks about my accomplishments proudly.

He kisses my lips tenderly.

He tells me I’m beautiful daily.

He trusts me faithfully.

He makes the butterflies in my stomach dance fiercely.

He knows, every time, I fall for him effortlessly.

But this time,

He makes me feel like I’m flying weightlessly.