She/Her/They/Them/It She is the woman lost in the fog whose face becomes indistinguishable from the wind Her eyes, deep and dark, give you a place to rest A place to remember what you left behind All of it, scattered in the stars They/them all lost, all found It is okay POC and a 61 year old woman Distinguished by the colors of the earth that are her skin Once her hair was the color of the sky at midnight She wrote poems and forgave your trespasses Spit out her rages, cut and burned to see you Today she is a person whose hair grows white and gray Makes her invisible, so she can cast her spells And utter the poems the stars bequeath to her LGBTQIA+ She loves the lines on your face that create your smile You, the woman to her woman, the woman to her many The girls you were both imagining love indistinguishable from life Oh the glory between your lips, your fingers, your thighs The most exquisite joy as your bodies rode the starlight To the edge of a spiral galaxy and leapt, oh, the ferocity! No scars, just eyes burning in the night Major Depression with Psychotic Features, PTSD Her joy grows from impossible places as she pulls herself up From quicksand, love like a vengeance sears her heart She breathes out fire and flowers as she lives/loves her life The voices in her head reverberate in her veins distinguished by there erudite calls for her nothingness Death her final temptation, as she is afflicted by nightmares Or relives the past with merciless clarity The only real thing what the stars assure her of, is your love
