Abscence makes the heart beat fast,
knowing that something’s not right about this fear and low-hanging confidence.
The days pile up and follow her like a dusty path asking
‘whatchu got to offer on this earth besides brown skin, and shrinking dreams?’
Whose is this voice that says,
Is it mine? She asks.
This mind knows that this heart can decide to be
better than now, and yet
as magnificent as now,
when will she be what she is she is made of?