i think that sometimes the earth
rotates in such a way that she never
exactly asked for, a way she
never particularly wanted or loved or
even thought made any sense in any way at all.

chaotically thrown against the walls of her own mind (and
having to watch as others have the same thing done to them
or to their friends) has often made her wonder:
is it her?

is it her that is responsible? unreasonable as it sometimes seems,
she often thinks it might be true.

the earth’s rotation only exists in her eyes, doesn’t it? that’s only natural,
her perception is all that she knows for sure so it makes sense to her in
every way: she must be the cause, she has to be.

cracked in the middle, aren’t i? (she thinks)
okay, but what does that mean? does she see it as a fault, as if every crack
oozes sticky black insufficiency, staining all it touches? no. no, it’s
less that than an awakening. she’s not wrong for being cracked;
everything good can only get in if a few cracks are there. besides, can’t
she see that she glows? surely she knows the inside of her is golden and
the only way to release it is through those cracks she so despises? surely.

kind soft and radiant, she glows even as the earth rotates against her, and
i love her for that. i love her. sometimes the hardest most cracked and
darkest shells house the brightest most beautiful royal souls.