Much of Growth

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Why am I so sensitive?
Why do I feel so much?
much like sharp empathies
much like those who easily cry
cry like a thunderstorm, or
cry subtly, like misty rain
rain can cleanse you
rain falls in seasons
seasons prompt adaptation
seasons encompass change
change is always the constant
change can be scary sometimes
sometimes we fear the unknown
sometimes we flow like water
water covers most of the earth
water gives us life
life vessels our purpose
life is different for everyone
everyone walks their own path
everyone wants to be loved
loved wholly and fully
loved like they deserve to be
be true to yourself
be considerate of others
others may not be mindful
others will learn through your actions
actions translate a language
actions share more than you tell
tell the stories of ancestors
tell all of the truths
truths make liars uncomfortable
truths peel off the masks
masks hide transgressions
masks fool people
people like social media
people paint pictures
pictures with filters
pictures of their perception
perception is a crucial lens
perception becomes one’s reality
reality of life
reality of time
time is an illusion
time is our forever
forever lives the spirit
forever allows space for growth
growth of self
growth makes us better
better
self.

©2018 Liza Morales

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Love Exudes

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magnolia
love blossoms from the well of one’s soul
fresh like the burgeoning of Spring
a bottomless pit of bliss
fragrant magnolias
intoxicating
a sweet garden
toiled each day
innate
joy
© 2018 Liza Morales

The Magic of Fingertips

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the human touch, a freeing sensation
skin, conduit
vibrations channel through pores, intercourse
bliss, full of it
there’s something grand in the phenomenon
a lofty feel
authentic and bare, a raw creation
the layers peel
swapping energies for exchange of light
we’re face to face
it’s like the world wraps us in its bosom
a warm embrace
with the stroke of each finger, there’s healing
our touch is medicinal, sound feeling.
© 2018 Liza Morales
#NaPoWriMo
hands.jpg

Ten Years

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the hands of time
have spun out of control
rotating swiftly
fast-forward button
3,650 days
and still, this void
left dangling in the world
detached from her breast
augmentation severed
her scent is faded
her voice now a whisper
but the spirit is strong
I feel her often
especially in the kitchen
she’s the gut of sofrito
resonating in the air
her hand on mine
as I stir boiling rice
just enough water
to make the grains fluffy
she’s the perfect amount
of hispanic seasonings
a culmination
of abuela’s teachings
now I repeat the cycle
let her live through me
my children still taste her
oh, how they miss her
how could we not
the Queen of our family
the giver of love
the unconditional kind
sometimes,
I wish she were still here
my flesh is selfish
wanting her physical presence
but then spirit reminds me
I live her endlessness
I rest well tonight.
© 2018 Liza Morales