Were Not Some Part of Her

there was once a hole in her heart
where no love would grow,
a void not desolate, no,
it was an urban uproar,
expectations as tall and as
sharp as city skyscrapers,
all angles and edges,
streets littered with elbows
and crowded corners,
she a pedestrian on an
endless, one-way route of regret,
her yearning a suffocating smog,
a desperate redness
swelling in her tired chest,
droplets of shameful acid rain
eroding roads,
rationalizations the pits and falls
on the map to nowhere

were not some part of her
made of steel and concrete,
her soul would have suffocated,
her lungs would have exploded
against the weight

were not some part of her
a cartographer,
bravely charting the void,
the child inside would never have
ventured forth to find nourishment

were not some part of her
a gardner,
feeding the green amongst
the steel and concrete,
her spirit would not now
know such sustenance

were not some part of her
an architect,
unafraid to draft and erase,
hope would have died long, long ago,
and her heart would not now be whole

-image is my own

The Wind


I cannot control the wind
or it’s constant metamorphose,
I listen to the rustling of the leaves
and watch the tree tops sway,
I feel it’s force against my cheeks
as my heels dig into the ground

I fight achingly against each sudden surge
and lean in with all my might,
while it gainfully gusts
and steadily swirls
any way it chooses,
with no conscience, no regret

until I’m left squarely standing,
slightly swaying like the tops of trees,
I close my eyes, feet firmly planted,
listening to more than the leaves

I hear my inner voice, shouting,
‘I have not acquiesced’

for, I know,
I cannot control the wind,
nor can it control me

-Image credit rhads.deviantart.com