the station i stood up
slowly disappearing into the rusty air,
the carrier windows are big and bright
yet i still see the shadows
cascading down my back
the curtains flap and clap
in between i see fragments
it’s luminescent in my eyes
but it flickers in ambiguity
an enigma i have yet to decrypt

She tells me “write, and never stop writing.” She pauses for a second before continuing, “for the one that creates, never disintegrates.”

“I am nothing but a personified soul that spews out meaningless words.” I reply.

“And yet you give reason and feeling to consonants and vowels that once meant nothing.” She tells me, peering over me or is she staring straight into my cortex? I can’t seem to figure that out through her black beaded pupils.

the cathartic breath,
burrowed beneath my lungs,
i hear it gasping, panting,
choking for air,
caged between my ribs
for i never let it free into the abyss,
it burgeons and flourishes
until any arrow that hits it,
will never miss.

for the light,
that could never
reflect high enough,
for the first time,
has reached the peaks.

you never realize how bright you shine until you’re engulfed in your own darkness

my mother's words
always rang before
any step forward,
halfway down the hallway,
i realized;
my destiny was not
for her to write

for the caterpillar
that never seemed
to blend in with
the butterflies
will bloom
more beautiful
than the flower
it stands upon