poems of a thoughtful mind

She

What does she think of me,
as I lie in the dark,
writing with ink that does not reach my eyes?

Does she feel pride?
That I do something to create more,
to reflect upon her and her love for me?

Do pain and shame tear at her heart?
As she watches me avoid the mirror
and close my closet?

Does she wonder what I think of her?
Do I even know her at all?

Mother Nature made me, but I am not made for knowing Mother Nature.

Can I even begin to treasure the air she breathes in my lungs?

Can I even begin to cherish the way the rosy dawn lights my world?

Can I cherish the comforts around my small paradise that I've made myself?

I try to embody her,
such as when I streak my soul across the page

I live and I laugh
I cry and I create
for I am a love that She has made.