Brushstrokes
rake my scalp awake
soggy mirror reflections drip
colorless portraits
ever changing in the steam
I’m washed clean
but my eyes still ache
with the memory stain
Refrain
voices became still
truth was unimportant
When you lost yourself in kind and your mind
Became camouflaged
pink and blue hues
girls and boys make a mess of things
give each other hope
and rings
forget the lives they lived
before they became
someone other
than themselves
Hope
I hope
I hope that you can see
I hope you will dig
into your heart
Like earth
dig the weeds
crust your fingers
twisting them between the tendrils
of unknown ideas
I hope
you will
plunge and dissect
your own phantom roots
of what you believe
Love can really be.
We will know
but knowing
doesn’t warm
Or illuminate
the need of tears
or the rising crescendos
That the moon
Carries our gem
Our femininity
The turning of our
Ocean selves
Rushing the tides of blind passion
throats
spilling certainties
like spells
into wishing wells
Fresh with truth
Green with vines
Resolving the thirst
Of identity that ran dry
I whisper to you now,
My thin reed of
mesquite branch
girl,
Eyes
smokey as mescal
Mija,
run the wild llorona winds.
find love in your own
repose
And then
You will know
Reflected in dreams
you will know
Real self
Self regard
Self reflection
Self compassion
Self esteem
All these sometimes
Intangible things
Become gifts
Then
You will know
What real love means