worlds in my mind

I occasionally stitch words together, in so doing i stitch myself back together

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jigsaw

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She Weeps, She Dares

She weeps for the girl who never learned— never learned how to feel, how to manage, manage the ebb and the flow of the tide, the tide that threatens to overtake, overtake the sense of self, the sense of her.

She weeps for the girl who never learned, learned how to be what she was in her bones, bones that ache and creak with echoes of pain, pain endured watching familial anger and threats— threats not aimed at her, yet teaching a lesson, a lesson that says do not feel, do not care; for caring is the pull beneath such tides; tides are dangerous—this she knows.

She weeps for the girl who was never loved, loved not by others but loved from within— within was a country never understood, never understood as something magical, magical because it is true, it is you.

She weeps because today was a good day, and good days are rare and far between; between is the wire she walks in weather, weather between desolation and fury, fury at a mind that will not bend; cooperation must be practiced, not learned— learned like breath returned after a wave.

She weeps because even on a good day like today— today not like other days, today still rare— rare is a word she abhors to the core, the core that craves light, craves quiet without strife; strife is a knife she imagines at the skin of her hours, hours she spends reaching for a small switch— switch that might flood the room with gentler water.

Perhaps she weeps because weeping feels true, true is rare, and she abhors rare; but weeping rises from within— within remains just out of reach, reach she does, getting closer as she twirls, twirling to the beat of thoughts running wild.

She weeps because she can and she dares, dares the world to refuse her rivers— rivers that carry her back to shore, shore that remembers her despite the storm.

She weeps—and the tide learns her name.