What if she had been raised by sunlight, by the gentle pull of dreams?
What if she had been raised by sunlight, by the gentle pull of dreams?
Not the sharpness of slammed doors, not the names that split her seams?
Not the sharpness of slammed doors, not the names that split her seams?
What if she had been raised by the gentle pull of sunlight---
not by the slammed doors, not the names that split her seams, dreams of sharpness.
What if love had propelled her forward, instead of fear holding her back?
What if love had propelled her forward, instead of fear holding her back?
Would she move like someone whole, not always spackling cracks?
Would she move like someone whole, not always spackling cracks?
What if love—not fear of holding her back–had propelled her instead?
Would she always move forward like someone spackling whole cracks?
A fresh coat hides absolutely nothing, but makes things look better!
No voice inside to hush her, no darkness to dim her flame.
No voice inside to hush her, no darkness to dim her flame.
Just the calm of steady breathing, the absence of her shame.
Just the calm of steady breathing, the absence of her shame.
Just the absence of the calm steady flame inside of her-
no breathing, no voice to hush her darkness, to dim her shame.
What if love had always been holding her? What if she had dreams like someone whole?
The absence of the slammed doors, sharpness that split her seams
not the pull of cracks, no spackling, no raised voice, not the names.
Would she move propelled by calm instead of just fear?
By breathing forward to hush her shame, to dim her of her darkness--
inside of her the gentle steady flame of sunlight.
About the Creator
Tina D. Lopez
A woman who writes to deal with hurt, mistakes--mine and others, and messy emotions. Telling my truth, from the heart, with no sugarcoating.
My book Love Ain’t No Friend of Mine is available on Amazon. https://a.co/d/6JYBmLH
Keep reading
More stories from Tina D. Lopez and writers in Poets and other communities.
December 8, 1980
When I was six or seven, my stepdad came into my life, and I remember thinking he knew everything. He could befriend anybody, anywhere. In grocery stores, he chatted with strangers over cuts of meat; at gas stations, he bonded with people pumping fuel over how the smell of gasoline was disgusting and yet enjoyable. In restaurants, he took an interest in waiters’ lives—like Steve, whose father was dying of cancer. When Steve’s dad died, my new dad attended the funeral.
By Tina D. LopezExclusive • 27 days ago
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.