tired rest

i use my phone as a mirror and in this last minute check of my self (hair, lipstick, scarf) my own expression surprised me. as odd as it sounds: i was surprised that i could look exactly how the hidden parts of me felt: pretty, aware, open, cautious, available, wild, protected, tired, young, old, worried, brave…


like a toddler at the end of a tantrum,

when her whole being is still asking why

through the rapid breath bursts

that come after hard crying.

her question,

once a rage filled demand,

and has now fizzled

to a lament

that only she can answer.

she is limp, spent and her eyes float closed,

eyebrows still crinkled in memory.

and as they smooth in escape,

she jolts awake to whimper her plea of why.

she holds nothing

but her own arms and hands,

twisted like tree roots,

grounding herself to herself.

she’s tired now,

cheeks flushed, limbs tingling, eyes thick,

softening to the silent strokes of her hair,

making an ocean of the shhhhhh whispered to her,

sinking into herself.

it’s no longer about getting an answer:

it’s about sleep and relief

to gather energy for the morning

when she’ll ask again.