The Bridge

 She couldn't cross;

couldn't manage to move one foot in front of the other,

couldn't manage forward regardless of whether she wanted to or not.

What's stopping you?

Her feet were tethered to the ground,
she - the tree, her feet - the roots searching for something - nourishment that wasn't available on the side she currently resided.

I could see the hesitation radiating off of her,

I saw the indecisiveness painted on her face like evening makeup.

She couldn't cross;
the wind held the property of a voice, it began to speak... It knew her name... It knew her weakness too and how to use it effectively.

What's the hold up?

It told her not to move,
told her that the bridge could giveaway under her feet;

I go to reach for her hand,

to let her know that everything is alright, but she snatched her hand away,

still deadpan staring at what's in front of her.

She - herself knew she couldn't swim, she knew she wouldn't be able to float on account that she wouldn't drop the baggage that she carried.

Stop letting yourself stop you-

She couldn't cross;

I knew how prone she was to being deceived by the wind, granting it/her anxiety a voice that only she could hear. the other side.

She was weary of the stranger she'd meet on

People think she's beautiful because they assume she wouldn't speak.

They say that ignorance is bliss.

If they never knew the words that she holds in her mouth,

behind her hated teeth,

protected & on the top of her tongue

ready to jump off like a swimmer

off a diving board;

They'll never be able to judge her,

genuinely judge her.

The Bridge: Outter Omniscient Narrative

What's stopping you?

I could see the hesitation radiating off of her,

I saw the indecisiveness painted on her face like evening makeup.

What's the hold up?

I go to reach for her hand,

to let her know that everything is alright, but she snatched her hand away,

still deadpan staring at what's in front of her.

Stop letting yourself stop you-

I knew how prone she was to being deceived by the wind, granting it/her anxiety a voice that only she could hear.

And what was in the forest?

And what was in the forest?

It was whatever she needed,

Someone who'll be there

for her when no one else wanted to be.

Someone who's like her mother, but

is not her mother-

a non-smoker, a non-harasser.

Some to step in as 

a reflection when the

person staring back at

me in the mirror wants a day off.

And what was in the forest?

It was whatever she wanted

it to be.

Her confidence,

Attached to her backbone-

A friendship that has unlikely

could have been dreamed up.

Wished for.

Her spirit is safe inside a bottle;

a message

that's personalized for 

whoever finds it.

Herself, her true self.

the person she used 

to be before

she became broken.

The Bridge : Outter Narrative

She couldn't cross;

couldn't manage to move one foot in front of the other,

couldn't manage forward regardless of whether she wanted to or not.

Her feet were tethered to the ground, 

she - the tree, her feet - the roots searching for something - nourishment that wasn't available on the side she currently resided.

She couldn't cross;

the wind held the property of a voice, it began to speak... It knew her name... It knew her weakness too and how to use it effectively.

It told her not to move,

told her that the bridge could giveaway under her feet;

She - herself knew she couldn't swim, she knew she wouldn't be able to float on account that she wouldn't drop the baggage that she carried.

She couldn't cross;

She was weary of the stranger she'd meet on the other side.

Unpluckable

I feel the most beautiful

when I'm not seen.

I hide where I'm not expected-

where people have assumed

I wouldn't thrive, but

Ha, I am just that type of creation;

A watch me do just that, being.

I feel the most beautiful when the wind

can not affect me,

where the rain that waters me

has fallen down your checks,

kissing you clean,

after the wind has assisted in your baptism, before it

hits the ground as a reminder

that you, too, were a part of

my nourishment, a realization.

I feel more beautiful knowing

I am no different than the others in the field,

this concert serves as my protector.

I feel the most beautiful in the dark,

where you won't see me, cause then-

You won't pick me.

Oh Child

Oh Child,

She couldn't have wanted to grow up fast enough,
her heart,
her heart,
a gentle giant, a creature that sees every interaction as a form of love, 

love that strangers or family alike can provide.
She couldn't have wanted to grow up fast enough,
to be able to make her own decisions by herself fast enough,
she couldn't wait for the life that seemed just out of reach to finally begin.

                              ---

Sweet Teen-ager: 
She couldn't have wanted to grow up fast enough,
she saw all the things that she wanted but could not yet have, just in the distance.
Her heart,
her heart,
a gatherer of information, experience, of dreams.
She swears that the world could be hers if only she could write it fast enough, put every detail about everything around her with the utmost respect.
The only thing(s) that ever got in her way was herself.

                              ---

Young adult-
She just wanted to be.
She wanted to flourish,
she wanted to be, and she wanted to be her authentically.
The world never stopped spinning since she was born, but now she finds herself feeling the rotation.
She's still her parents' baby girl,
but she's no longer a 'baby' girl.
She missed that simplicity,
she missed that weightlessness when the load she carries now was non-existent.

                              ---

A Tale from the Present;
Once upon a time, I couldn't have wanted to grow up fast enough, but now I'm here.
I couldn't have wanted to mature fast enough, but now I'm here.
I can make my own decisions, but I learned that
there's a consequence that comes along with each one.
I wish I could cradle her and show her the beauty in taking things slow.
The Earth's rotation is a perfect example of slow and steady.
During the fall, the leaves change slowly but surely.
I was formed with that same slow precision.

A trainless thought

I don't have a train of thought.

My thoughts range more like going through

an old attic, arranging words like old

photographs to piece together something

coherent to say to you, so you know how I

feel, how emotions are something to me

more estranged than a strict father & his kids,

how my work ethic is as strong as a community mother,

but my own happiness... my joy is an antsy teen that don't like 

coming out of her room. I am a 'I can do it all' person, turns superhero

till I realize that the only reason I can't fly is because - I promised my cap

to someone I thought was more super than me. So I don't have a train of thought,

most days, I don't feel like I could be the conductor of anything.