A noisy impatient fly
Humming by my ear like the fluorescent light overhead
Near imperceptible, but in the silence, grating
As it sung out, buzz, buzz, buzz, out of itself,
Always droning, never a pause in the incessant
Static.

And you, O my soul, where you sit,
Trapped in a cocoon of web, never quite alone
But immovably stagnant, perhaps once learning, chasing, dancing, Seeking that elusive something,
Till exhausted by the endless journey, only ever wishing
For a home
That you never found, but barely existing you continue, O my soul.

First among many.
That was me, to you; the first from the last.
The last among many.
That was you, to me; the last from the rest.
Quite a nice position, wasn't it?

A woman of many talents,
of many stories that were too late told,
of hardships in silence buried.
A lifetime of rollercoasters,
of standing on a pedestal
and being struck to the ground,
heel to skull, teeth to pavement,
threatening to never let up.

Yet you did, and have not spoken of it since.

Do the words 'too little, too late' ring any bells?
Does the phrase 'less is more' still hold true?

In my mind, I see you in an ocean of darkness
Helpless, and friendless,
suffering in silence.
Yet, you're hardened by years of experience,
of hurt in the dark, of scars in the night.
You, an old dog,
and one of your oldest tricks --
licking your wounds in isolation,
willing the world to do its worst
as you weathered the storm,
one that you've already withstood before.

I can only describe you as an Inverse;
a woman who,
ignoring her own palms skinned to muscle, to bone,
built ramps and laid bridges
to give children enough space to run;
who, turning her back from a life of rejection and hate,
showered everyone with only gratitude, and love,
and everything that she knew she deserved but never received.

You, who brought words to life
in a language so deeply underappreciated,
have rendered the world speechless.
You, who have shown strength
in the face of adversity,
have rendered your blood weak.

A woman of contradictions,
contradictions of the best kind --
for even in death, we celebrate life.