They look at you, knowing you, giving you the space to grow. They let you explore all the different terrains that intrigue you, all the while knowing that their home is the one you’ll return to. The focus is on the long game and the creation of a nation between your two warrior tribes—you two against the world. The story is in their eyes as they look at you knowingly and they recognize that you are thine.
“Just Take Me”
Of the sweet history
You created with me.
Finally let us be
Wild and free.
Barefoot amidst the movement of lapping, cold waves—a gentle soul walks onward into the ocean. Mangrove branches loop out from the water and marine alluvium soils. Tiny fish grow within the intertidal zone, protected by the plants and disrupted by her calm feet digging into the sand. Hair wild amidst the cool sun rays softly kissing each eye into a deeper caramel hue. The water against her strong ankles as low pools fill and recede into the Earth. Gusts pick up cooling a body flowing in tandem with the ocean waves as the heart connects to the soul of the ocean.
Asteroids are falling into my atmosphere, their burning traces, crystal prisms.
They dig deep into my chest, opening spaces where perhaps leaves will grow after we sow this burned soil.
Flutters of color like butterfly wings whispering pieces of song that sirens can nice upon a time would sing.
Maybe these leaves will be blown to the water when the gusts pick up as none of this matters.
I don’t take drastic measures, they must seem that way. I only take measures to reach what I hope to achieve. Last year I learned when I should cut back the ill growth of this fragrant rose bush that I am trying to cultivate. I have already learned this year when to let go of leaves that are meant to fall. For the greater good, I make choices because there is no point in holding on to thinly dangling foliage. I have also been in the process of learning how to fertilize and in learning when it is necessary to cut back excessive growth–My roots dig in deeper into this rich soil. It is all love in this horizon; it’s just that love sometimes might hurt a little in some places. I hope I have the willpower to heed the words of the wise and the courage to stand alone as I cultivate this Golden Celebration.
Baby, you are a whirlwind. You are a shiny pinwheel representing youth and innocence. Did you ever imagine that you would recreate yourself again and again? Are there traces left of her and if so, in which deepest parts of you do you house her?
Now songs are no longer meant for lovers, they’re your words which hold you within their syllables. You are now a naturally molded piece of obsidian—from heat and fury you shine pitch black. Nothing has ever been more gorgeous.
I take off my shoes so my feet will shoot out roots that will burrow into the ground and help me grow upwards while building thicker skin. The curves of my body will curve like the avocado trees or the willow tree. Perhaps I’ll twist upward like a long succulent underneath the sun blooming at every centimeter. When my petals fall I will grow new plants and flowers or trees. As I bear the buds of my flowers or fruits I will give off a sweet aroma enticing the butterflies to fly through my leaves. All the while my feet will hold me down as the act of living pushes me upward towards space and inward towards the core. I can find my nutrients in each place and I will form the middle-world. This world will be surrounded by large yellow butterflies and small blue ones against gray and cloudy skies with a dollop of sunshine. I will foster symbiotic relationships with the orchids that will grow on my trunk or that hang close to me. I could also be a sour orange tree or a blade of grass, but as I am I shall remain holding back the ground and holding up the sky. I let middle-world breathe.