Hang

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the broken days

we all dread them.

on an oversalted afternoon,

the wheel spins + another

pain-leashed leviathan

weighs anchor in an unlucky soul.

sometimes we just borrow them

then step right back into the sun

others hang in our heart,

like Hamlet’s crooked star,

turning every bend in the road

into a promise, then a question,

and finally, a shrug.

and yet,

your humanity is what makes you beautiful

your mortality is what lets you feel so fiercely

your conscience can still change the world

don’t let nature’s pencil trace

bitter furrowed eyebrows + wasted moments

upon age softened skin

instead, simply revel in the fact that

you are loved

 

Dedicated to my Tía, and the almost absurd amount of strong, courageous, powerful, kind and wonderful women in my life. I can honestly say that I wouldn’t be who I am without you! 

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