"Where is my child?
Where have you taken her?"
She lays her head across the floor
the carpet oddly cold.
She calls out for help
from the only person
who sees and
understands her completely.
But she herself, the seer,
is crying in a pain of her own

And the woman realized that
the Seer
Was  her reflection

"I'm an open book"
She says

Written in
code.

I'VE been crying

JUST quit hurting

TRIED to live on

TO you

FORGET the hurt

i've just tried to forget

One truth
One consistent voice
One authentic face
One vision
One clear perception
One profound impression
You are naturally beautiful when you are oneself

The feeling
Of finishing
A good book
In a day.

It ends
Too soon
And leaves
A strange feeling.

I didn’t know
That when you left
I wouldn’t see you
Ever again.

I waved goodbye
I smiled bright
Until they called me
Late at night.

Sometimes I think
When light has gone
You were a lost cause
All along.

But then when rays
Of light arrive
Tears of betrayal
Leave my eyes.

black, bitter coffee,
baggy eyes, tired being,
sorry existence.

I am not an open book;
I am not an easy read.

you pried open my cover,
and engraved your name on the sleeve.

ink bleeding through the layers,  
pure white pages made unclean.

you wrote down a story,
and I let myself believe.

I agonize over the few mundane interactions we’ll have today
I want more