She Is Your Greatest Champion
As she shoulders your world
She shoulders your world and its problems,
As she hefts the view and opinions shouted down,
Such a fine balancing act, so she broadens her shoulders,
Intent of working the smiles to obscure the frown.
***
Her duty is never done, working every Sunday,
Ravished by the apex of every issue and fact,
Laughing in the face of obstruction,
Turning the world around, her singing determined to distract.
***
She buries the rottenness in the pit of her stomach,
Churning it to a paste,
Digesting every torrid thought and feeling,
Removing the toxins until they are disadvantaged waste.
***
She showers in the night skies,
Cleansing under the full moon,
Ready to attack the weakening abrasion,
Wandering the dunes where she leaves the wickedness strewn.
***
Tomorrow will awaken her turmoil,
The resulting hangover of the abusive night hours,
A flick of her fingers, acid soaring through her memories,
As she sprinkles your world with her powers.
***
Call her name as you glimpse her wandering,
She’ll welcome you atop the peak,
Laughing and loving you like you’ve never experienced,
As you learn exactly what it is you seek.
***
The breath she exhales is made up of dew drops and honey,
Nourishing the nightmares she wanders through,
Turning the worries, the fear, the sordidness,
Into butterflies of a peacock blue.
***
A curtain of the most beautiful hue will adorn your eyes,
As she whispers in your ear,
“Your worries are a delicious aroma, your fears a blended smoothie,
Your happiness a potent magical spell and my tears are your souvenir.”
If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.
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Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (2)
Wow! This was soooo empowering!
Fabulous piece. Well done, as always.