neatly pressed, uniformed,
looking for matron.

the vestibule, signing in,
taking out. small girl
grown older, bolder now.

these are the growing days.
big school, and endless
performances. not yet
the final curtain.

you made no difference
whatsoever.

small girl.

sbm.

'O cruel Death, give three things back,'
Sang a bone upon the shore;
'A child found all a child can lack,
Whether of pleasure or of rest,
Upon the abundance of my breast':
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.

'Three dear things that women know,'
Sang a bhone upon the shore;
'A man if I but held him so
When my body was alive
Found all the pleasure that life gave':
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.

'The third thing that I think of yet,'
Sang a bone upon the shore,
'Is that morning when I met
Face to face my rightful man
And did after stretch and yawn':
A bone wave-whitened and dried in the wind.

Some keep me hidden
others bring me to the light,
I fight for justice and peace at mind.
Through sorrow and pain I am also found.
You say to others, “The Truth shall set you free,”  
but all along you’ve kept Me locked in a cage.
Enslaved by your own lies,
They became your own refuge, your only escape.
On the other hand, I am certain, simple and gentle, never hurtful,
I fight for justice and peace at mind.
While some keep Me hidden and others bring Me to the light,
My name says it all, I am the Truth
My word will set the Way- to the Truth- in your Life.
Don’t hide me, bring me to the light.

Copyright© Cynthia Ulloa
All rights reserved.

I won't call
I won't cry
But you already know
That's a bold - faced lie
Your eyes bring me back
To the place I call home
Where everything can be fixed
Do you know what I mean
Can't you see the words are real
When my soul collapses at your touch
Love is the only certainty I feel
But I don't dare admit
Not a word can be breathed
Fear fills me overflowingly
Scared shitless on my own
For our fate dictates things
Beyond our control is the decision
That could **** me or give me wings

All these words can mean well but they can never say it plain
For all the things I want to express would paint me insane
Simple phrases could be the key
So I admit I truly love you
And deeply hope you do not flee

She wasn't so special.
She wasn't even that pretty, and her hair was always a mess, she had tired eyes, also her knees were too skinny and her voice was too loud. She was always in her own world never paying attention to anything I had to say, always scribbling in that notebook of hers I never got a chance to read. She laughed pretty much about anything, and had an opinion about everything, seriously.
Okay, she was that pretty. In fact, the world beautiful wouldn't bring her justice in her worst day. Her hair was a mess, that's for sure, it always fell over her face and I used to pull it back gently. And maybe she had tired eyes for staying up until the moon went to sleep waiting for my 'I'm home' text. I got to say I loved the skinniness of her knees, I remember thinking she was secure with me, that nothing wrong would ever happen to her. She was a loud person, which kind of came in handy whenever she had to stand up for herself, watching her speak up always made me proud.
She was a daydreamer, always over analizing everything, picturing different scenarios and each possible outcome. She promised she would show me that notebook, I remember she mentioned once how every thought that crossed her mind she wrote, that always fascinated me. And her laugh, man, that I could never hate, I would have done anything to hear her laugh. She always told me how having an opinion about everything made her interesting, but I knew that already, for I found her fascinating since the moment I met her.

She knew who she was and she knew what she wanted,
I wish I had figured that out before.
It's too late now.

With Muse filled;
Semenal words are
on the parchment spilled.