Grief. Rage. Evolution. Sensuality.

Last week feels like a year ago.
20 minutes since the last
I held her up
20grams heavier, perhaps
eyelashes a deeper tint of brown
Noticing. Noticing, Noticing.
The whispered current which shapes my life
Has again, seasoned.
I’m in between identities
The storm behind the storm
Pulls.
I’m shedding.
To speak and to move from this new me
It’s messy.
My words have been born out of flames.
Im exhausted of considering how i am perceived
Or how my expression ripples
I will not be contained
Some truths arrive slowly. They bud, they contract, they pause.
At once, they demand to be spoken like spells. All the while not yet being tame.
When I’m not living in my solitude,
I am contemplating it.