skin peeling from the nail bed.  
I wonder when exactly it became so hard 
to shift my eyes away from this point on the ground. 

I used to feel the blood whisking through my veins, 
laced around and under and through my flesh.  
It’s stagnant now, though, and stale. 
 
The wind is sharp, and I lower myself 
down to the moss because it's quieter down there. 
I listen to the pulse of the earth. 
 
I’ll rest here for while, close my eyes  
and let the tears fall silently as the the ground absorbs  
what cannot be explained in words. 
 
There will be a day when I’m not quite so lost,  
when I am more and I am ready.  
I am not her yet, but she is waiting for me.