poetry

I am a parent. a mother they say. but I don’t feel that way because I was raised with parents who

I want to marry you in yellow. white has never been my color anyway

let the breath settle in your lungs and

the first place I look is the palm of your hand / the mount under Mercury / the one that holds the healer’s mark

they always ask why why did you leave give me all the reasons and then they try and tell me all the reasons I should have changed to stay

she is swallowing your lies with her mariposa smile
knowing that

I can feel your fingers tugging at the roots between us

show me the ones who made you feel like you were hard to love

I am not a delicate woman
don’t let my eyes fool you

letting go is usually easy for me
I know that most people are temporary