Undereye circles
Bruised traces of unshed tears
Each day leaves its mark

I hear them crying
even when no one else hears.
The trees are dying.

Cried for my brother
Spilled latte on my keyboard
Thursday morning blues

Melting

“You’re melting” someone said.
It was intended as a compliment
and I dutifully thanked her but in reality I have felt my presence diminish.
I take up less space in the world with this body.
What will be left in its’ place?
As I whittle down the outer shell, literally,
I get figuratively closer
to the crystallized center of me
I soften
become quieter
truer to my nature
I don’t have to be loud funny boisterous cheerful entertaining.
I don't have to show how insanely happy with myself I am
to keep them from feeling sorry for me.
I can be diminished and go into the west, I guess.
And remain Ronda.