Everything

Words spill out of my mothers mouth Like a gumball machine Some are soft as cotton Others are as hard and heavy as lead It is all she feeds me And it is all I swallow Year after year She gets lighter And I get taller I flew across the world Tasted all different flavors And when I met strangers They’d ask me “What’s that sound” A jingle of my belly A rattle when I laugh A reminder of my home made meals And when I see my mother again She opens her mouth Out falls a small shiny

Up here, I can see everything the roads we take, the blind spots we miss, even the weather sneaking in uninvited. From up here, I can tell you that frown you wear goes nowhere. And that drum in your chest, snaring like a live wire with no rest, softens into a cloud. Up here, I can see the sun setting. The dark is coming. But so is a new day rising in a golden mist. Way up here, everything is as it should be. It's hard for my voice to reach you I ask the wind to carry it to yo

Stretch like a child playing with a rubber band, who’s never felt the snap of it gone too far. Bend like light through crystal, or waves in a magnetic field— just enough to press the edge of physics. Reach through a portal built by a mere mortal, through smoke and mirrors. Offering your hand— and your whole life, too. Peel like a hard-boiled egg, cracking and splintering, delicate but sharp. Lower your shield. Expose your soft underbelly. Reveal the golden, glimmering hope wi