It wasn’t the stranger in her skin

but the skin she didn’t own;

the mirror lied to her for years

in countenance unknown.

But when she learned her truest self

was trapped beneath that skin,

she stretched her soul and slipped it off,

re-molted genuine.

The Missing Link

I see you there,

open to possibilities,

embracing with wild abandon

whatever Destiny would bring your way this day,

courage marking your  alabaster brow.

I am curious.

I lean in,

seeking the answer in your lines,

connecting your dots to determine

the sum of your bravado.

Too close, I am seared by your breathy dust.

I know it clings to my skin

but I let it be;

perhaps your pollen

will meld and morph my DNA,

alter my ego,

help me to forge

that missing link between

what I am

and what I was born to be…