Another Place

I know he hears me when I cry,

I am helpless in my situation.

I cannot think of a way to fix it,

So here I lay with thoughts of despair.

I want a place to be myself,

Where I am free to work and consider my thoughts.

Different is good they say,

These are the people that change our lives.

I am a stranger in my bed,

Wondering what I’m good for in this place.

How shall I make it in this world?

Lord, make a way for me.

Give me a place where I can thrive,

Where I can do your works in peace.

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Morning Incantation

The Lord gives me strength in all things,

I sing praises to him for he has never let me down.

Who can go against the Lord?

They always lose.

Always choose the living water,

I have no doubt about this.

The wind, waves, and earth move for him.

He is above all, the king!

How shall we overcome?

He already has.

Confidence

Light spills through jalousies,

warming floorboards with one sweeping wave,

dresser, vanity, tea set, finally bed,

touching her cheeks flushed from first heat.

She tousles brown locks over her face,

huffs, “See me tomorrow!”

tucks her head into the peach blanket ruffles,

breathing in the detergent of the fresh fabric.

Brazen is the sun, determined,

which sweeps through cotton sheets,

prodding her to see the day,

birds singing in the windowpane.

She flounces her blankets off,

betrayed by heat of summer morning,

sprawls her arms to cast out tensions,

sleep energy transferring out her body.

 

The door creaks revealing an angel-haired maiden,

sweet as lilies that float away in the creek,

she whispers, “It’s time,”

then tends to the eggs and cinnamon bread.

Thus, she scurries to the closet for a fresh pick,

observing fabrics, cuts, and colors choicely,

an array of careful consideration,

while changing out of her pajamas.

She turns toward the vanity,

pinches the soft of her belly fat,

winces, eyebrows furrowed,

grimacing toward the reflection.

She focuses back to the array of patterns,

pulls a plain navy suit with gold finishings,

holds both pieces to her frame,

fidgets, poses, unsure.

 

She tips on her toes,

tilts her head to the side,

puffs out her chest for expression,

then reverts.

She studies the smooth and rough surfaces of her face,

tousles her hair in careful, cascading waves,

puckers her lips for rouge,

closes the clasps of her peep toed pumps.

She makes her way out,

pauses, hand on the door,

rushes back, once more,

searching for imperfections.

She flattens her face on the cool mirror,

leaving a nose imprint,

pulls back, revealing a dimpled smile,

then she whisks away without a second glance.