My bones are young. They know this land. They were created, formed, and tendered in this land, but my blood. She is ancient. My blood speaks of my ancestors. She cries out from injustice. From pain and suffering. Her strength is unmeasured. My blood demands justice. Her power building, supported by my mothers and my grandmothers. We will not let you destroy us.

abraded sky  scabbed
      by winter fluctuation
much uncertainty

I thought life was an equation,
one that could only exist in absolutes—
black against white,
sharp lines, clear edges.
But then, you blurred the borders,
redefined what it meant to be whole.

And I realized that in the spaces between,
where nothing is clear,
the most profound truths linger—
not in certainty,
but in the quiet chaos of change,
where we are found, whole in our imperfection.

Life,
built and driven by dreams,
compelled by needs,
conquered through opportunity,
sustained by dedication,
longed for by desire.

Desire, which drives dreams,
with the folly of burying them
in the present routine
and in superior external decisions.

This partner desire, divided,
by indecision and power,
by wanting and duty:
yields and withers.

Surrendering to destiny and fate,
woven into the horizon,
blind to the present,
credited to the past,
premises of the future,
entangled in possibilities
irreverent to the central,
present, and adjacent conditions:
of life, like metamorphosis,
mutable, unavoidable, and relentless.

Faced with assumptions and
eventualities,
is what’s meant to be, to be?
Perhaps, in the undulations of the search
for the fleeting existence.

I stood by the shore,
Watching the waves pass through,
feeling its currents go against my feet.
The force was strong.
The water was cold.
My toes gripped firmly to the sand.
I could not move forward.
I did not want to move forward.
If it's this much here,
it must be worse there.
Little did I know that,
what lies ahead is better.
For as you go deeper,
water embraces more of your parts--
your body adapts to its temperature.
And there, the waves once so intimidating are calm.

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.