She

CATEGORY

life

she always knew
her greyed shape 
would only enjoy
moments
of amber gold and olive

her residence had been a tapestry
of silent tolerance
questioned by fear
of who she really was

she shuffled
from place to place
and back
committing only if she new
a way out

so often
no one really knew of her worth

it would get erased
each time she closed a door

as she often did

for most
she arrived
as a magnificent spark
burning incredible moments
of forever imprints

just as quickly
a candle quivering 
unsettled afterthoughts
to those who tried
to latch to her light

but

she had never lived
what others considered

life

it was an illusion that she
never understood
one to sorrowful to
settle her sensitive stem

it would smother her oxygen
and sift her energy

when her heart finally
had enough of the farcical

she would lock her walls
fold her life
and paint her windows black

she would sit in hush
waiting
for any like one
to come
to water

no one ever did

when the wound became absolute
she ran away from herself

aloof to the weight of moments
anchored to her heart

no longer questioning or reasoning
but content to
not be
until
there was no more

she sat in silent playgrounds
listening to children laughing
she enjoyed the indulgence
of a soft encounter with hope

she watched as the
last crimpled leaf
fell from its tree
dangling in a winters breath

she found pleasure knowing
that life existed and when over
could walk gently away with no
hesitation or need to stay

she was the swimmer
who contently dove
every evening
into an ocean of sand

her breath was a privilege
rewarded moment by moment

a mirror reflecting her smile
could no longer see

the mirror had found faith
to console all of her
unseen tangled wounds
watching a flowing river
with daffodils and garbage
the journey became her solace
all else was smoke

It was then
she would remember

emptiness floats into butter colored warmth
because it needs to heal

sadness was the addiction of re-living anything
that ever made our hearts soar

perfection lives in gratitude
of complete imperfection

imperfection
is the essence
of hope at birth
rising