words sit thick
like cotton on the tongue
waiting to be spun
into a dress of pretty prose
for strangers to wear,
letters and lace to drape
across the shoulders of people
we will never meet,
soul stories told by hands
that hold tendrils of magic
we move between moments,
insomnia written into our bones
because sleep cannot make a home
in minds that do not rest,
in bodies composed
of air and water and hope and pain
we breathe wreckage and desire,
and we are not afraid of either
because we carry the blood
of vikings and warriors in our veins
our hearts wear a shield
made of woven strength
we are resilient
we are infinite
we are poetry
– ashley jane