This sunrise on my soul makes yesterday seem like a moment in time Wrenched from me before and brought back to me wrapped in flowered paper Adorned in laces and glitter that sticks to each leaf of the flowers, I can see.
An assortment that mirrors my past, present And the unforeseen future. Mine it is, that time that is coming, The moments that once told me I was fodder for a moment of ill placed rage, The lengthy battles to fight back tears and shakes.
In time, the heart beats again. Remind me o’ good night that choices made, Lost time and space were not worth the bruises.
With persistence, I learned not to cower to the coward. My life will not be borrowed by boys in men’s clothing.
With isolation comes doomed thinking, some of which were former truths denied to be fact for fear of discomfort. What is it that we know about what’s coming? What is it the we aim to feel, when your humanity is relegated to categorical definitions of them, us, and or that But never never this.
Now, I see the sunsets, I feel them on my grateful round cheeks, For I have found the nights warmth again. Wrapping myself in the bosom of a pillow that holds me a willing hostage, Away from the fate of what is not my truth, but that of the losing, wailing heart of hate.