TENDER SOUL

By Emma-Jane Barlow

The cold comes to remind me, I'm tender.

Soft skin that melts from bone.

A branch that can splinter

under skies of white trepidation.

But also shoot magic into space

with a warmth kindled inside my heart.

I am the amalgamation of grit and silk.

I am a tender soul in human skin.

I am a witch stirring potions from the

beauty and blues of this canvas of life.

Brewing stories from darkness and light.

This season, I am holding onto harmony

with claws carved from a rage so unholy.

I dig my nails in the dirt to remind myself

that I am not just a spirit cursed

and bound to this shell.

I have the silver strength from the orb of night,

a slice of earth fire that wills me to fight.

The cold comes to remind me, I'm tender.

But I can also be difficult to chew, with stones

the size of asteroids hidden inside my core.

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