The truth runs with my blood,
trots with horses in open fields,
caresses the slick skin of an animal deep in the sea.
No one really sees it,
my condolences continue to graze the top of the pond.
No one knows,
No one would bare to understand.
A battle of love and want.
The surface of my outer coat appears to be as is,
it camouflages me in a pack of traitors
dressed up as little kids.
I swim in the rivers of my being,
floating because I want to feel so light,
I am drenched as it starts to rain,
I begin to pour out my fight.
Playing hide and go seek with perfection,
amplified by the sun,
only the moon can see moments
for they are running water
seeping through open palms.
It is released in sweet redemption and tears,
through storms of merry shared by peers.
Troubles break like bread on the community table;
untouched,
She revels in the rain as salt,
So bitter to the taste,
yet garnishes the mind with relaxation…
for ghost stories, go to pg. 80
thepoliticsofkendra.com 