Breaking free from confinement her roots emerge,
Cracked ceramic cascades across the fractured memories she bore,
She is growing past the bounds they placed her in,
She is defying the norms they mistaken her for,
Her overgrowth is fierce and intimidates all so.

Dealt grief - heartbreak - and trauma this woman survives,
No vessel capable of containing her spirit,
Overgrowth is her resilience that pushes past the comfort of garden beds,
The skies sing her praise as nature paves her way.

It was misguided attachment as you were broken and I was shattered.

We brought our shambles together and crafted what would have been forever.

Yet I awaken to a reality more fickle than fragments my memory can bare.

Clinging to her every breath does it restrict the flow of energy and reason,
In each passing moment the space surrounding her melts into bounds of solitary confinement.

Her thoughts aflutter begin to frenzy into a spiral,
Clouding her recognition of self,
It is a feat beyond wit and will,
Marvel at how her anxiety prevails,
But she persists still.

The scripture recited harmoniously was once a collection of disunity seeking clarity,
the hymn illuminating worship was but a misguided prayer given direction,
for the devotee of truth was merely a traveler led by lies.

Evil is good deprived as sin is a deed misguided,
wrongdoings are not but acts of oblivion as harm is to an interpreter's call,
light only cascades when darkness prevails,
and lessons can only be taught when mistakes derail,
oppositions engulf our beings as we factor their cause,
a melody is but a discord discovered - realized in flaw.

Oh moonchild,
it is safe now,
Unfold your layers till you discover the stardust and ecstasy residing within.

You are but a speck in the creation of life,
born of constellations your mind cannot fathom,
existing parallel to each equinox awaited,
although the vast is mystified and serene,
remember oh moonchild,
you are deserving of the radiance you shine onto others.

Unfold your layers and look inward for there you will find,
the glories the skies contain confide the very heart which you thought benign.

In the silence surrounding her she harbors solace,
with a candle burning her imagination and intuition is churning,
She scribes through the hours of the night to reason with the jigsaw of jargon outlined before her.

A scholar defying the norm,
a messy bun with a few strands undone,
that's the mark of her intellect,
it's the crown she carries.