Starless On a back road there walked a girl, shaking and battered. A bruise colored her left cheek and discolored her pale skin, different wounds at varying stages of healing throughout her body. Stones embedded themselves into the flesh of her bare feet, pinching and scrapping them till they were raw. Her shoulders slumped forward, exhausted and worn, her long chestnut hair wiry and frayed. She bit her lower lip and willed the tears back as they threatened at the edge of her eyes. Her clothes stuck close to her skin by the stickiness of her sweat. This summer night was one of the hottest, and she had nowhere to go. Frightened and defeated, she trudged forward, down the forgotten road.
Frightened and defeated, she let out a startling cry, shattering the silence. Looking above, the stars melted into nothing as tears welled and over-flowed, streaming down her cheeks. Her step waivered, a jagged rock biting into her flesh and sending her to the
My AngelLike a whisper in the wind,
She travels over the earth.
Her wings beat the air -
Gaining height, gaining flight.
Her breast rise and fall with each breath.
Filling her lungs, her soul, with nature’s sweetness.
The freshness of the grass and dirt becoming one.
As she makes her journey across the sky,
Her grace touches the people that are passed.
Her essence shimmers over, illuminating the darkness;
Calming the fear of the shadows.
As night comes to replace the day,
She fills the silence with her song -
The stars crescendo into her orchestra as they freckle the night sky.
She fades into the shadows,
A whisper, a shadow, an angel of the night.
Her wings beat their final gust of wind,
Sending her flying toward her universe, her freedom.
Goodnight. Goodbye, my angel.
A PageMy skin is bare,
Blank like paper.
No markings, no ink.
Just tiny flaws scattered,
A wrinkle; a scar.
My mind is full of color,
Of words yet written.
I am comfortable in my own skin.
Something is missing though.
A page is not complete
Until tainted by ink.
Can my skin be like a page?
Ink is forever, even if it fades.
My skin is blank, bare, empty.
I am creative, and yet
One can hardly tell.
Is ink what this page is missing?
Does it hurt the page to be written on?
To be marked forever?
Colorless wrinkles cannot compare
To the beauty of ink filling the emptiness.
My skin is bare.
Something is missing.
No piercings are needed.
But a page is not complete
Without the tainting of ink.