Indigenous Woman

I can understand that in your eyes the glass should be half empty; for you've savored what would be enough before placing it on your coffee table.

Drenching your soul of waterfalls hoping your body will mope into fresh water. A physique among oceans, you feel invincibly breathtaking.

Enough to take shortcuts. Roadmaps are too dreadful for a walking mind, so you'd buss through traffic to find a peace of mind.

Unlike the thought of him returning a piece of your time.

Leaving you to vanish into the sun's heart, while genetic footprints sink in the mud. You'd walk miles to show this man how many souls you've drowned in a well.

But you left your cup of water on the table.

So, you leave him to wallow in what now would be a venial sin. As he unwillingly continues to dip his feet in a pool of reconcile.

Not knowing you'd spent a lifetime building a fence. Not to keep people out, or let people in. But to protect demons from diving in deep-ends.

Because a taste of spring water will leave a demon to dance on wildfires. Give too much luxury to a fiend and you'll design him a halo.

Your cup of water is divined.

These are the river of your tears. Pour it over drylands and watch a shoreless land flourish.

These are the ruins of your heart, only until you malnourish the fetus of your home will it bring you solace