I give myself a cheery wave,
I deserve a good start at least.
This time is more confident, knowing, loved.

This time
The reflection stays and basks
in the warmth of the love reflected.
The smile is calm, accepting and comfortable.

What once was a shell
has cascaded as it rolled down the hill
gained momentum,
picking things up along the way,
gaining speed and ******* soaring.

Shell no longer, my bounty is full
and I couldn't be more grateful.
My insides are starting to match
my expectations of my outsides again
which feels good.
More than that--I feel like myself.

Heya friend!
I call to my reflection.
Her eyes crinkle and she smiles
throwing the peace sign,
Then she gives me a serious look
and points to our heart
and mouths:

"Protect It,
But Don't Waste Your Potential.
Go Love. Be Loved. Be Love."

She turns to go,
But over her shoulder she turns
and says:

"By the way, I'm proud of you.
I'm proud to reflect who you have become.
You deserve all the happiness life can bring
and all the sadness that sharpens the joy.
Now the goal is to experience everything,
Take it all in,
Don't take any of it for granted
and worship life.
Love and worship really living."

My reflection doesn't leave me,
Even when things are rough these days,
I have learned a lot in days numbered, years, decades,
I can't reclaim my youth
but I can avoid its mistakes for my own sake.

This world is scary enough right now,
People sowing the hatred that snuffs out light
That breaks the glass of shops and places of prayer
and homes of people
who just want to be able to live their best lives,
my hopes for the future dwindle low
but my candle still burns,
and with a thousand candles
and two thousand feet
and ten thousand fingers raised
maybe someone will see
maybe it will cause change?

What will it take?
I hope violence isn't the answer.
I have a family to raise.
A life to live.
In the community I want to make friends in.
I don't want this,
But I have to be a good example
To the generations who come and will
Need. Good. Examples.

I feed my reflection positivity now.
I feed my reflection ferocity and the willingness to speak up.
I feed my reflection hope with motivation to enact change.
I feed my reflection the willingness to accept flaws.
I feed my reflection patience to understand others' perspectives.

A few things have changed though.
We hardened up a little bit.
Around the block a little bit.
I don't put up with narcissist *******,
I handle myself with decorum but push me
and I bite back,
Verbally. Don't talk to me
as if you already know me

I have friends and you friend
are not a friend so go back to
Your friends, this conversation
Is at an end.

What feminine people go through
while you can come out stronger,
it takes a lot of tumbling to get that
gem nice and shiny.

Starting a new chapter,
Me.
I think we've made good choices so far
that lead us here.
There are some weird bumps ahead,
But I think with the support of partners
and loves and lovers and friends
We will help each other get through this
Fighting when we have to,
Leaning on each other,
And never forgetting what we're fighting for.

I have begun to forget who I was before I met you.

The thoughts that used to consume me are growing hazy.
The life I once desired seems more like a fictional novel, a character, a bedtime story.
It's distant.
It's no longer mine.

I'm no longer sure there was a before.
It only feels like there's a now.
It only feels like there's our future.

I stand in front of a stone library
that once held great knowledge therein,
but stands now empty under skies dreary.
I whisper a prayer for our sins:

Please, Lord, let the children who follow us
grow wiser than we ever were.
Let them yet be the loving kindness
that we have signally failed to confer.

I doubt that they will ever forgive us
for this fallen world that we’re handing down
thanks to all the blind disservice
by leaving little but ash on the ground.

Before us all stand two stone gates
each leading to diverging roads:
The one leads to our visible fate
while the other fate overthrows.

Please, Lord, let those born in these days
choose the path of the unknown
instead of taking the road that behind us lays:
They shall our foolishness swiftly outgrow.

What few blessings I may pass on to you,
O dear reader of the future’s present,
I give you freely in hopes of a new
rebirth in a world without end, amen.

Fifty years ago, the future came,
built in concrete, tile, and bright lights,
underground station, undergirding the fame
of this city, adding to its manifold sights.

Now the future’s a place that smells of stale beer,
barely lit by futuristic lamps in disrepair,
wallpapered in graffiti, strewn with gear
of the pale homeless who’ve made this their lair.

They, like this chipped, grimy, forsaken place
are left in the dust of our dreams’ mercury pace.

I try to avoid clichés, such as the word ‘someday,’ but I can’t deny the hope it carries. It’s beautiful and promising, like the first light of day. Seven simple letters that hold the weight of my dreams.

Someday, I’ll write about cool winds and peaceful rain, about afternoons spent wandering through gardens. I’ll describe the grass beneath my feet, as though it thanks me for walking this earth. I’ll write of vast cities, where new streets hum with life, new places I’ve visited, and those yet to come.

Someday, I will only wait for sunrises and sunsets. I’ll leave the sciences behind in favor of what nourishes the soul. I’ll indulge in simple joys, like flipping through recipe books and learning the art of crafting the perfect soup.

Someday, my writing will shift. It will be less about others and more about me—how I am loved, how I am loved well, and how those I love are lucky to have me. I’ll be hidden, only found by those who seek me in my absence, who know that I’ve always left the door open. At the dining table, I’ll sit with friends who stayed, who made me stay, and who never took me for granted.

Someday, I’ll spend more time analyzing constellations, and less on pondering why relationships fail. I’ll always have the right words to say, no hesitation, no delay. Someday, my writing will be simple and clear, no ironies, no hidden metaphors.
Short, and sweet;
No traces of past pains, or of having dealt with goodbyes.

But someday is still a distant thought. For now, I let the ink bleed a little longer. I let the pen spell words like grief and loss.

I lose myself in spectral alternatives
Of an uncertain and nonexistent future.
Tormented by inconsistent thoughts,
By inconsistent perspectives
And in the countless possibilities of the horizon.

A feeling that accelerates the chest,
At times paralyzing and tormenting,
Moving in disharmonious rhythms,
Expelling an unmeasured air
From a gasping breath.

I cling to the present
That runs and does not forgive,
Thrives and insists,
Being the only one that resists,
To the past and to the future.