Your Words Vanished in History’s Truth

Your words

They sting like pros

Stabbing Swords

Legendary Forms

Parasite in my pores

Transformed myself toxic

Poisoned my own existence

Blinding fogs permeated vision

Coping skills

Self destruction, sabotage at will

Limitations

Transitioned to deflection

No expectation

Utter isolation

Peaceful meditation

Less intimidation

Healed incarnation

Abundant simulation

Your Words vanished

I replaced them with Truths

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Judge a Book by It’s Content

Dandelions in the fields

Weeds that help to heal

Some pull and pluck and kill

The plant is a weed

Something too ill

Not knowing the speed

To cure, mend, and feed

Don’t judge a book by it’s cover

Judge a book by it’s content

Everything has a purpose and grace

Even in the most forsaken place

The weed thrives, cures, and blooms

Wisdom Has No Age

Photo by Thirdman on Pexels.com

Silver strands woven into my hair

Finally growing into the body I always felt I was

older than my years inside

younger than my peers outside

with curves that called the flesh

and a mind that rejected the thought

of a permanent shallow existence

always older than my years

younger than I needed to look

always enough, but feeling not good enough

It took 48 years of pain, joy, suffering, happiness

anger, forgiveness, rejection, acceptance,

disillusion, honesty, to finally

fully realize, it was social conditioning

In a world of men, women can think too

I was never too loud or too much

I was always more than enough

Now it is your turn

To Hush

A letter on behalf of my Mother to her younger self.