my chest
doesn't scream --
it hums
with a stabbing pain
too polite
to interupt.

my soul
it still reaches
for hands
that no longer
reach back
to me.

A warm wind touched my face.
I walked out into the open space,
I saw a blurry, fading horizon.
Somewhere, you are,
I am here, after a sleepless night,
Writing another reflection,
Tired like an empty battery.

I do not like the masks that shout.
The fight over who is right.
I do not want an analysis.
I touch the bark of the tree,
I hug the birch with my arms.
I see its white pages,
Written with irregular lines,
Torn, fluttering in the wind,
Which I cannot read.

Her eyes look straight into me,
They understand –
How well they understand me.
The rustle of leaves lessens the tension.
Autumn will come soon,
The summer wind whispers to me:
This country, this language,
These people, these doubts.

This is not blind luck,
This is your blessing,
Purple, rainy months, a fleshy heart,
Falling hair, joy when relief comes,
Crying into a pillow –
So as not to disturb another’s dreaming
About the so-called reality.

Bare feet touch the ground.
I tread carefully on the edge of worlds,
To be both here and there
With my integrity.
I am everything and nothing.
I am gestures, epilepsy,
The belief that I see human thoughts,
Inconsistent with what they say.

Blue, sun, and somewhere you.
How good that you stayed.
When everyone was saying:
She is different,
She talks to ghosts.
You stayed, showing me
Your true face.

On a morning like this, lethargic and indifferent,
It is so easy to make me rich,
When the pain is moving slowly and smoothly, and
I hold on to you, like a monkey,
                                                         ­            Sob on me,
Make me the richest woman in the world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Can you see, my dear, how fast it is raining?
And the forest, a trickster, is washing its leaves,
Pretending that it cares while it is cheating with the rapper.

No one tells them that after the colors explode,
They will invade their hearts, like big Colonizers,
Will put names on them, and play cards,
Drink whiskey, laugh, and feed the earth, so after
They can ride their horses as a symbol of freedom and kindness,
Making donations and digging water wells,

On a morning like this, I believe,
Our story is like that of the gold seekers,
It is so easy to make me rich,
Make me the richest woman in the whole world,
Richer than Hetty Green,
Greedier than Hetty Green,

Dig me, baby, it is in my eyes,
Whisper in my ear, while the cold raindrops are touching my face,
They are hiding in my hair, on a morning like this,
Be my tears, lethargic and indifferent,
Ask the leaves, on a morning like this,
I hope they do not lose their mind,
                                                And will remember me in the spring

quiet opposition
silent reaping

a force umoveable
growing stronger

words to scatter
to the four winds

Nuances of antiquity
In the roughness of the stone,
Mirrors of the past
In the faded paint, alone,
A touch old humanity
In the feeding of the birds....
But long abandoned nuances,
So sad, adorn the words?

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

My tongue unfurls,
knotted and bruised,
tumbling down my knees.
A sob, a thick glob of sound,
catches on my teeth,
a pearl without an oyster,
a stone in my throat.
My chest beats hard,
a frantic, thudding rhythm,
like a cat trapped in a bag,
desperate for air, for light,
a way out of this cage
of words I refuse to utter.
And the anxiety screams,
a high-pitched shriek in my ears,
as it scrambles and claws,
demanding attention,
pushing words out of me
that I never meant to say.

A chaotic flood of feeling,
a messy, unfiltered truth.
I watch your face,
a mirror of my fears,
and I know I've done it again—
said too much.
Fast, loud, honest,
and ruined.

Too much. Too soon.

The silence that follows
is the loudest sound I've ever heard.