She sits and is majesty;
her words chiming bones on a breeze
that chills the skin and warms the heart.

She sits within reach,
and yet is unattainable, untouchable.
She tempts, teases, unknowing.

Who dare she be,
that with such profound beauty in her,
is locked like gates wide open.

My arms outstretched cannot reach hers folded,
a helpless struggle for a lost cause.

Then a pulsating moment stops, and breathes a sigh,
never moving on with time.

When I turned ten, I knew
The world was mine
With the
Sparkling, dew-kissed branches
And hazy,
Laughter-warmed nights.

When I turned fourteen, I thought
The world would be handed
To me.
The high confidence eyes and
Brand name cell phones
Telling
Me what was what and
Who
I was.

When I turned twenty, I knew
The world never could be
Mine. I
Lost myself
In the cubicles and textbooks
That were written
And built with
The names
Of the mighty
Shadows
Under whom I’d
Always live.


When I turned twenty-six,
I was married.
And the world became mine again.


When I turned twenty-seven,
The world turned too.
And closed the palms
That held my childhood.
Sealed the lids that had watched
Over my adolescence.
Re-opened the mouth that echoed
My nothingness.
And left me to sit here and
Despair at the odds
Of your eyes opening
Again.