Untethered
I am not whole,
but I am here-
barefoot on the edge of mourning,
where no echo dares speak back.
My mind
is a locked room
with the windows flung open.
Grief dances in like a breeze-
pretending to be gentle.
No one sees
the way my thoughts scatter
like ash in water,
each memory refusing to drown.
Sometimes,
I want to be the sky-
unreachable,
but always holding something back.
But most days,
I am just the Earth,
cracked,
waiting for rain that does not come.
I have tried
to anchor myself
in people, in places,
in the rhythm of the days that pretend
to hold me-
but every warmth
slips through my grasp.
like smoke through trembling hands.
I am still
Untethered.
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