What does anyone know of my rebelliousness,

my tears of blood,

of the wounds of my thoughts?

 

What does anyone know

if my heart is a dreary and deep space,

if it is perfect or imperfect,

or a chaos of mirages?

 

What does anyone know

if my weeping has long strands,

whether my days are electric or serene,

or if I live an autumn of orphanhood?

 

Does anyone know?

 

©Noris Roberts