What if eyes never
Opened?
What if lungs never
Breathed?
What if the sun never
Rose?
What if you never
Woke?

What if mother found
Your lifeless body
Drowned.

If sister cried
If father died
Inside.

What if your wrists stayed
Unpierced?
What if lungs stayed
Dry.

What if you stopped
And breathed?
What happens if you never
Die?

To all the women I've  ever called pretty,
before strong or intelligent,
I am sorry.

I am sorry I made it sound as though
something as simple as what you're born with
is the only thing you could be proud of
when you have crushed the sky.

I will, from now, call you resilient, or extraordinary.
Not because you are not pretty,
but because you are so much more than that.

You are the pink rose,
Gently swaying in the cool air,
Drops of dew kissing your silky petals.
You are the first soft snowflakes,
Falling on a wintry day,
Creating an ambience of serenity.
You are the Spring astir,
With a sense of  tender caress,
In the whisper of the gentle breeze.
Or the wealth of the Summer that comes with joyous abandon.
Or the glowing colours in the painting of Autumn.
You are the smile that soothes my heart,
My strength to uphold my weakness,
An inspiration to my soul,
My guide,
My Angel from above.

I’ve been falling.
I’ve been feeling the cold,
It breezes through my bones,
And the very moment it chills me,
Your warm embrace fulfills me.
All I can see are the colors falling through the air,
Each holding memories I can’t get back, it’s not fair.
It doesn’t matter how cold it gets,
Home won’t fail to heat me from the inside.