have you ever
stopped to notice
how much strength
your mother carries
in her womb
and in her eyes

or how girls can give
their hearts whole
without blinking

or how the women
in your life
have been torn apart
by the men they wake
up next to

I have seen bloodshed
and it is not on her skin-
it is when you turned her
inside out
and asked her why
she is still here

as if the sickness
as if the disease
as if the stone
in your body
can be erased
with her unconditional love

predestined to make the same mistakes
for every year

to love the same type of man
an athletic build
energy that lights the room
and a shield around their heart

but for a moment
out of the view of everyone
i watch their eyes soften
through the corner of mine

and i try to imagine
that i am the reason for this.

What might have been lost?
if I never see you again

I call your eyes
one of the dreamers
and your eyes dart
across the room

always above my head
like you're watching
shooting stars collide

I learned you are
a body of water
elusive and mystical
flowing between the gaps
of my fingers

always slipping
through my fingers

I know that
your life will rotate
perfectly
without me

But I wish
I could be the compass
always guiding
you home

I like words.
I like watching them
f
   a
       l
           l
together
m e l d i n g    i n t o
                   one
large collection
of feelings
thoughts, emotions,
               d
           r         e
       a      m       s
and stories
that you whisper
before I drift
                      to
                          sleep.

Better than you;
always considered myself superior
--a delusion I nurtured
with vicious remarks
and cold sniggers;
within the remotest of land,
full of dust,
you learned to bloom
with your youthful flowers
growing larger
than me
and yourself.

caramel skin
like the sweet scent
of toffee & warm sugar
during a summer festival.

you called me exotic,
with black eyelashes
******* my even darker
raven eyes.

no other woman
could ever compare
with my soft voice,
strong principles,
and thoughtful nature.

you called me exotic.
but I wonder if you know,
I am a stranger within my skin,
within my community.

I am exotic
in an unsettling way--
halves and quarters,
of thoughts and ideas,
and never whole enough
for anyone.

my parents
are whole people
with a fragmented daughter;
to them,
I am a stranger--
I am exotic.

I am both
sickened and liberated
by my difference.

but mostly,
terrified.

i’m a quarter lifespan
half human
and too delicate to be
broken.

can you find
the paradox in that
statement?

and in the times
you measured my
force against oceans

I carved soft footprints
in the sand

and watched the
lavenders
grow in them.