mother cried
because she was beautiful
her daughter,
the placid girl.

she cried,
because the men wanted her,
yet could not love her.

as millions plucked
flowers for their beauty,
then threw them to pavements.

they touched her,
because she was beautiful.
they defiled her.

they ripped the petals
from her throat,
and left her to wither,

a rose on the sidewalk.

“Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water. And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home, and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent; but nothing is infinite, not even loss. You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again.”

I am from the planets spinning
I am from the dust of stars
I am from moon’s glow on ocean
I am from both near and far

I am from the hazy morning
I am from clear mid-day
I am from the purple evening
I am from where darkness lays

I am from the East and West
I am from the North and South
I am from the core of earth
I am from the inside out

I am from the foam of oceans
I am from the breath of skies
I am from raindrops falling
I am from the glaciers’ ice

I am from the winding rivers
I am from the sea
I am from lakes and inlets
I am from water, carry it in me

I am from places known
I am from life’s mysteries
I am from the edge of nowhere
I am
      you are
            we are
                   all of these

the magic of poetry.
is that it makes everything
beautiful.
it fills your lungs
like air.
it turns your soul
into a sky full of stars.
your heart
a field of wildflowers.
you.
into a poem.