Even freedom aches at the end of the day,
It's wings grow tired,no more to sway.

It needs to rest ,It needs to sleep.
A gentle pause,a quiet keep.

Through the storms it flies,through the sky so wide,
Bt even freedom must slow it's stride.

In love and hope,in pain's deep sea,
There is rest ,there is peace,for even the free.

Bigotedly, I held the same view,
Pacing a tank domestic and half-full
As the airbag now sprung from the hemisphere of my lungs,
Stone-hard and hysteric in the cradle of your palms.

I
Flamboyán whispers,
wrapped gently by the nightfall
the coquí sings true.

II
Clouds become soft quilts,
dreams live curled in the branches
under a sky full of stars.

III
The breeze calls my name,
it smells of earth and heartbeat
my soul finds its rest.

Life is vulnerable,And we're here to suffer and heal!

Sprout of a leaf,
listen--
a thousand wings of applause
shatter the quiet,
rising like storm breakers.

It knocked
softly
a breath at the door
but I
bolted the windows
and swallowed the key.

It came wearing warmth,
but I mistook it
for fire,
for teeth,
for grief with a new face.

So I fled,
faster than joy
could reach out its hand
afraid it might feel
like home.

Whether from arrogance or negligence, I yawn at their stance
Not a chance I’ll advance.

Science tends to disagree - research believes in therapy
As far as claiming it'd make me happy.

        'Have a 30-minute walk each day',  
She dares to say as I continue to pay.
        'You carry trauma from your childhood'
        'Navigate your thoughts and it’ll affect your mood'.

Sorry doctor, I’m lacking modesty -
I seem unable to take you seriously and seeing you hurts violently.
I could easily earn your degree.

Undoubtedly, people will say:
        'How can she expect to be okay?'
        'She's abusing of her sick leave pay'
        'In no way committed to her healing journey'.

To which I’ll roll my eyes at any day.

I am ten crows, twenty-three starlings,
one tree, a world of racket, every dusk that ever was.

I am a holy heart four angels defend,
other times I am nothing but flesh and fingertips.

There are four seasons, three necessities,
two sides to the moon.

The window has eight panes;
I am in them all.