Have you ever spoken with your heart?

Have you ever danced with your pain?

Really looked her in the eyes as you glide, and you slide,

and you bend —

as she twists in confusion —

like humble worker bees missing their Queen.

How could we take our eyes off our most precious prize? Our only link to life — controlled by another.

Poked and prodded,

choked and knotted and left for dead.

A ghost of what she once was.

Haunting our dreams and every waking moment begging to know,

begging to understand why!

Why we left her to die in the hands of a lie, a trick, a fool!

Like just another tool and not our breath of life — her strength the only way we survive the lies and the pain we can't explain.

From birth she carried us, connecting us, showing us the power and strength of truth.

We listened better

and followed her wherever.

Into our youth, down alleys up streams of conscious connections,

and decisions,

and projections.

Finding for the first time her fear — 

so deep,

so near. 

And no one really knew her truth.

So we scattered,

and shattered,

and crumbled before the first thing that made her sing and jump for joy.

No longer coy or careful and discrete.

We left her out like meat hanging from our sleeves.

Easily accessible to devour every hour, every chance we got.

Remembering not her paths to bigger and better things, or the songs she sings in honor of her truth,

her love,

her duty to we,

to us,

to life,

to trust.

As a teen, we didn't know anything but still tried everything to find her once again.

After the pain began — as if death was not enough

cuz she's so tough.

And still, she rose and surprised with hope,

and longing,

and possibility to love again. 

Despite the fear, she knew love was near.

As a teen, we failed to find it.

We chased it,

yearned to embrace it,

study it,

and envied it until

no longer were we young.

Time has come and gone, adults now,

and still she reaches out

for someone to hold,

to carry,

to embrace.

And she aches from the tears on our faces.

The mirror of truth, 

the shame and pain of emptiness,

of lack,

of defeat.

Asking why me?

How could life pass us by without truth? Without one chance at love — one real love for her to live off of all of eternity!

 And she stops — and we panic!

There's no way life could end like this!

And she begins again,

and asks for our hand,

and whispers within

"I only beat for you."

And we begin again, 

With the power in our hands, 

And self love within,

to listen.