It never occurred that wallflowers wilt, when the soil freezes over from a lack of warmth, and the roots that once reached out in all directions have been pulled up from the dirt. Silence is not as welcoming as it once was the lightness of it seeping into skin as easily as breathing– instead bled through with heavy-handed darkness, can’t be left alone to think lest it settle across my shoulders once again. The fear keeps from taking things in when I most wanted to remember. (by Ana-Sofia Muñoz) (Written by my daughter and was featured in “An Ode to the Writing Process: Writing in the Raw” /HLPUSD Literary Magazine).…
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A Woman’s Heart
A woman’s heart is hers to keep But, a woman, who is a mother, she gives to her children A woman, who is a wife, she gives to her husband No matter how a woman should keep her own heart, She chooses to love, to care, to sacrifice Because a woman, who is a mother, and a wife was made this way, Selfless, benevolent, and generous A woman’s heart is fragile but strong, an oxymoron, but it is true A woman’s heart is unassuming and kind and rich with compassion A woman’s heart is with substance, overflowing with a sense of atonement and contrition Never ceases to amaze…
