"This
is a familiar scene for me;
You,
with your eyes on the road,
and myself,
watching the sights
as we pass them by.
There
are so many things
that I
want to ask of you,
so many questions
to be answered,
and yet,
there is a quiet
between us,
that which we also share;
the familiar sound
of silence;
the sound
of all the things
you didn’t say.”

Live and never forget. Forgive, and never regret.
We all have loved, and love is all we have.
Never forget, never regret.

Reflection of flawed imperfection staring back at me pleading to be cherished.
I found truth from within, buried underneath a yearning to be desired,
yet a needing of love from Self.
Crooked smiles were gracefully painted on its canvas; a wrapping of the arms hugging tightly around self; a resting of the hands against the warming heart.
Sensitive to the unfamiliar touch of affection, deprived by others.
It was then when I recognized the sensation.
the interior warmth,
the restoration of courage to feel again.
The intrinsic means to rebirth in spirit.
A dying soul awakening from the cold winds.
A blossoming of the new flower.
A rose striving through a concrete past.
A glistening dandelion once more from a glimpse of the Son.
It was then when I felt love.
It was then when I embraced the Son’s light that shone upon her reflection.
It was then when I found her.
Belle Fleur.
I’ve loved her ever since.

THE WAY IN WHICH INSECURITY MAKES A HOME OF MY BODY,
LEAVING HER PILES OF SELF-DOUBT AND ANXIETY LYING ON THE FLOOR.
AS I CONTINUE TO STUMBLE AWAY FROM MIRRORS,
TRYING TO FIND A REFLECTION SHE HAS NOT BECOME A PART OF,
SHE REVEALS TO ME,
THAT THE MIRROR DOES NOT HAVE TO BE CRACKED IN ORDER FOR ME TO LOOK BROKEN.
I ASK HER WHY SHE HAS NOT MOVED OUT ALREADY,
AND SHE SAYS IT IS NOT HER FAULT THAT I ALWAYS LEAVE THE DOORS OPEN.
I TELL HER OF HOW I MISPLACED THE KEYS IN THE HANDS OF PEOPLE WHO COULD NOT LOVE ALL THAT I AM.
AND WITHOUT HESITATION,
SHE ASKS ME WHY I HAVE NOT YET CHANGED THE LOCKS.

Dagger buried in the depths of my heart,
pain seeping out of every crease causing of an eruption of tears.
Consistent manipulation into giving up my hopes,
A conning of my inner treasure.
Mend the broken pieces of my emotions,
the scattering of my feelings,
shredded apart because of a stolen hope.
A borrowed courage to believe that I could be loved.
The right to know that a heart was destined to belong with mines.
The privilege to smile without reason.
Pinpointing the flaws of my love,
questioning where does it become “too much”?
Torn apart from the inside,
a decaying courage to try,
denying myself of the experience to fall,
pain accumulating with every ignored cry,
every plead pushed to the side.
A vacant space now occupies the nucleus of my emotions.
They withered away with every disappointment and tear.
So everything within me dies,
(Oh, how bitter the feeling)
in hopes of a rebirth.

She stood still before the choas; unshaken.
The wind blew its mighty breath against Her core but to no avail; unmoved.
Her coffee'd skin warm like the sun that kisses the Earth's horizon.
Something within Her had risen without warning nor permission:
She was a Goddess, in Her own right.

Brown. The soft tone of the Earth.
Golden hue painted widely across the canvas of Her *****.
Her skin like caramelized silk, with the sunglow of Egypt itself.

She pressed Her face to the Earth's floor and moved mountains with Her prayers.
Queen of the meek, ambassador of the poor.
She was the perfect amalgam of beauty and brokenness.
~The Goddess of Humility.