and the moon speaks again
- Sep 8, 2021
- 1 min read

"from the otherworld"

Tired one from the otherworld,

she carries the wind

but herself

is barely a shadow-

burgundy roses

and crumpled leaves

that she steps on

as she tries

to make her way

away

from the past

and into the promises of tomorrow,

the ones that have already been broken

yet somehow

as she steps under the shade

of the fig tree

the dark under her eyes

turns pale

and the piercing eyes

become oceans

that welcome even the ones

who treated her otherworldliness

as a nuisance,

as something to be shunned

and as something to be feared, ostracized, criticized loudly yet silently.

Recent Posts

See All

"i am not"

I am not a tragic ending or a storm below the stirring Earth, I am not your empty vessel nor am I a glass of dirt. I have never been full of fear and yet somehow I know that the end is near. I may not

"shells"

Belonging is difficult and sometimes a battle on a field littered with bones. Those of us who never got a say in this destiny lay awaiting a future of souls rather than shells but we did not know. I a

"fragments"

Fragments of myself fell off until I had lost them all, I had lost the soul until I was nothing but a performing shell- I had forgotten who I was because I tried so hard to fit, I never wanted to but

Post: Blog2_Post