My Writing


She is sunshine. She is 

warmth, a smothering hug; 

with her left hand, she embraces you,

and with her right hand, rubs circles 

on your back. She is a rain cloud.

She is cold and gray; with her left hand

she pats your shoulder, and with her right hand, 

she clasps your throat. She is

a rainbow, a scattering of colors

after the rain and before the sun: the swirl

of light between clouds. She tucks

your hair behind your ear and whispers

STAY. Her silent stare makes you

a stranger in your own skin: her home

is not your home. 

No matter where you roam, she is 

a sliver of laughter in your heart. 

You always return to her open arms;

they close around you and constrict. You are

no longer an inhabitant here. You are

not a dweller, not a stranger:

You are her guest.


Photo by Andrew Neel on Unsplash