some of us are bog people
we live with the snails and the maggots
making bacteria
we're suckers for substance
the dirt speaks to us
some of us are bog people
we hang with the microorganisms
making pilgrimages
we're slimey silt and silage
full-tilt and raw
the dirt wants us

dig it or dig it not
we can't help it
some of us are just bog people

.Digging for my roots,
Through fragrant soil,
Rocks scrape my wrists,
Moving deeper,
Entangled in the maze,
Rich with the past,
My ancestors are lost in the dirt,
Their names forgotten, but they are there in my DNA,
Marking me with their gifts, their trauma, their choices,
I am not one,
I am many.

11/2017 by Leah Oviedo @ ImpowerYou.org

I am dirt.
I am a constant in your life.
I am there to catch you when you fall.
I am there when you lay alone at night
struggling to feel something.
I am never fading
for I am dirt.

You are human.
Your body was not meant to touch stars.
You are meant to swallow fire
to burn cities to the ground.
You take me for granted because
You are human.

You are a human who found another human.
Another human who could do my job.
Another human who could do more.
Another human who stole you from me.
Yet you didn’t take them for granted.
Your human is a thief.

I thought I was dirt.
Now I am laying alone at night.
What am I feeling?
Dirt can’t feel, or can it?
I am not dirt.

I am human.

The walls keep making that sound,
As if something is trying to escape,
It's a dove
That flies down,
Circling this building.
It's majestic,
With ***** wings
Perfect flying,
Down the other
Buildings,
Smaller are my dreams
Equally *****
Majestic.
It disappears
Behind the bushes
Flapping as it comes near the roof
Past a tree in the middle of a courtyard,
I cannot see.
I won't see until I'm a dove myself,
A ***** city dove
Looking for a home
Between the roof and the ceiling,
Behind a tree,
Among the dirt.

In the summer,
Hands in soil,
Bodies covered in dirt,
Running barefoot,
Camping in grass,
Rolling in mud,
Smoke in our hair,
Dust in our socks,
Tasting the Earth,
Juice dripping down chins,
Flowers in hands,
Rolling down hills,
Resting in roots.
In the fall,
Rain in our hair,
Rain in our clothes,
Rain on our skin,
Rain carries filthy rivulets
To the drain.

When I look into his eyes I see the eyes of the devil staring back at me.

But they're not his.
Just a reflection of the past.

I went from dirt to a queen.

Can I be a queen covered in mud?