Chiseled Sorrows

Don’t underestimate her calm nervous system,  

for she has walked through fires  

that burned away the squeamish girl 

who once forgot what she was made of.

Don’t mistake the lightness in her dance  

as one afraid of shadow,  

for she has moon-danced in hell realms  

well beyond your understanding.

Don’t question her faith,  

for she has been ripped apart by the tornado, 

shredded into nothing—  

only to find her way upright  

within its peaceful eye.

Don’t mistake her wild embodiment,  

the inhabiting of her bare, naked skin,  

as an invitation for objectification—  

as anything less than the sacred vessel  

from which you came.

Don’t doubt her love,  

for it has carved the mountains and oceans  

where you find solace  

and remember your integrity.

She paints rainbows across your skies  

because she has chiseled sorrows from centuries past

with steady, forgiving hands,  

devoted to a love more powerful.

Don’t wonder if she lives,  

for she has died enough to know—  

this too shall pass.