Coming Undone

The many faces of the moon

have sometimes been the sole witness

to my unraveling. Even when my soul

comes completely undone, I refuse to

become trapped inside my own body.

My moon mother welcomes me

to her side, night after night. While the

distant light of the stars whisper quietly

in my ear and the wind caresses my cheek.

Unbroken. Reconnecting not in death

but through my brokenness. How,

you ask, can something broken not be

broke? Is it an untruth? Is it an illusion?

A fusion of light and souls? Nah.

It’s just that black girl magic. And

if you don’t understand it,

you just might not own it.

Peace & Love,

Rosalind