“@ Rebecca Handmade Sass”

She traded a diamond life for sparkling water,

And leathered Iroquois in exchange for Ongweh'onweh.

I've watched her tether together veins,

Braiding them while they were still bleeding,

In order to girdeth her strength

To hold onto another day;

Making ends palomar against the backstitches

Meant to fix the brokeness

Of Translucent Clay hearts

As a means to make mere man marvel

At her marble necklaces.

Unfortunately, they can't get past her eyes.

An Aurora swirls in one, a tornado in the other.

And in each freshly squeezed tear, there's a river

That reflects loves past,

Presents future sadnesses,

And asks itself in passing

without need of verb, noun, or adjective

These questions intermittently--

Complete with the butterfly flutter of my eyelashes

As inferred punctuations

Flangered in ranges depending on the sentences:

"Can I trust again?"

"Do they see my loneliness, despite the draping of my Indian bangs?"

"Do they only see my sexiness, or are they finally looking at my necklaces?"

"Do they realize Iroquois is French for "Snake"

And Ongweh'onweh means "REAL HUMAN BEINGS?"

"Is this a dream from which I'll one day wake up or is it a stageplay that I make up?"

"Is it normal for my moods to change by the hour at times...

From happy, to sad, to excited, to lonely,

To tired, to funny, to lazy, to inspired?"

"Is it only me, or do I have an amen corner out there..

Who also owns that version of us without apology?"

That last one is not a rhetorical question!

I need a yes, man!

Eye...knead...a yes. Sometimes. Just for me.

Can I get that yes, then?

Yes, Rebecca.

The answer...to your every question...

Is 'yes.'

I know that heart is not for sale,

but how much...for the teardrops?

Let me get them all.

Yeah.

In the very napkin...they're wrapped in.