rosealice

I want to break all the windows and let the sky crash in, pour myself over the broken shards and revel in the raging blue. Bleed thick and dark, like indigo honey, until I’m nothing but air and dust in the open skies. 

Every winter, I have a tradition.
It doesn't happen on a specific day, but at some point in the earliest months, I make my way down to the beach and walk into Lake Champlain.

There are cats who live life in androgyny;
they wear hats made of felt and mahogany.
every morning they laugh,
free from binary wrath,
and the great crushing weight of misogyny.
 

It’s been a year in quarantine,
A dry monotony.
That is, until I started hearing
Things I couldn’t see.

A ghost lives in my closet,
And whispers in the dark
Of every mundane memory
Where failure’s left its mark.

Oh, to be mist on a rainy day, 
to embrace the mountains and drift away,
to curl and float above a lake,
and revel in the rising sun’s wake

and oh, to sweep in silken waves
through untouched woods and cities paved,