I am not special, but I am unique
A blessing, still a child in so many ways
Stuck because of forgetting where the exits are,
Where’s that damned fire marshal?
I am my own Compass
And I must remember the exits are an illusion just as much as the ground beneath me.
This child still feels the cold
The hunger and the hold of alien hands.
This child still knows alone as if it were her only kin.
This woman is learning what fills her cup and how to hold it in the rain for water and how to hold it in the fire for sustenance.
This woman is breathing in the tools of remembrance, one step at a time.
One moment to the very next,
one owl hoot to the next sweeping call of the crow from above.
The love is real
It is older than you
Older than us
Older than we can know