Sometimes the world comes
too close
Swinging less gently
trying to crack my skull
with its earthern armor
Take over my black holes
and fill with
tree roots and wormholes,
dirt.
The soil that will cover my casket.

I need air.

these pages are stained
these pages are broken
these pages are swollen
with pain

so much doubt
so much hurt

so little joy
so little hope

these pages can be torn
these pages can be burned
these pages can be remembered
for the ending is brighter

little bird girl
keep flying east.
if you soar quickly,
no rain can dampen your wings.

little bird girl
hide behind your feathers.
keep your head down,
as the sun scorches in your joy
and the moon glimmers in your despair.

little bird girl
nurture that tree of yours.
your supposed home.
remember, the damage has been done.
your bare breast proves it,
an imprint.

little bird girl
don’t take my advice.
for i am you
and we are just a little girl.
no wings for flying,
grounded to the earth.

lighten up the load,
replace it with stone.
one rock
of the densest sort
breaks through my glass ribs
suspends in hollow silence
void of a beat.
keeps me comfort,

in a life with no soul.

She sits,
as a lady does,
in a stiff-backed chair
with her hands quietly folded
and her legs daintily crossed.

She stares off
with unassuming eyes
and an innocent mouth
flawlessly carved on her doll face.
She lightly drips of jewels,
purposely placed.
her pale grey dress of silk and lace
shines against her fair skin.

She is watched by others.
“otherworldly” they whisper
as they sit,
captivated,
at every poised move
and eloquent word.

She sits,
with a soul
of an ancient ache.
She stares through eyes
that have witnessed pain.
She is watched with vapid glances
of oblivious peoples.

but,
She keeps the truth hidden,
her face beautifully blank.
a Portrait,
for nothing else is regarded,
when clothed in silk and lace.