Twenty six days of beautiful art and poetry is what I call a pretty great twenty six days.
I was not meant for motherhood,
not with these sharp edges
and a predilection for sadness.
I am a cog in a genetic footprint
that left a web of darkness
behind my eyes,
planted seeds of cancer in the
delicate bodies of my mother
and my brother.
I am the progeny of rage,
of battles with the bottle and carbohydrates.
There is a cruel streak
that runs through the caverns of my veins,
racing against the frenzied connections
that dictate the rhythm of my heart.
I was not meant for motherhood.
My touch is not one that nurtures,
my voice not one that soothes.
Bridge Of Sighs
I am heart fire,
the blue flame.
Hold my mirror
in your other hand.
look for shadows.
There are no others here.
I please my buddha soul,
always now, forever.
I squeeze my other finger
I feel no…
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