An architect constructed you a mansion
for your heart and you called it a cage.
He crafted each room with so much caution
and care.
The muscle nestled between your ribs
felt like a boulder I was incapable of swallowing,
I am a myth,
tugging on strings that have strangled me.
My fantasies were polished glass shards
shattered by laments and heartbreak.
Ancestors draped mirrors
with black organza in bereavement
after a loved one died.
The fabric is as light as a ghost,
so tell me,
how did I still I wake up with
bits of glass crunching beneath my feet?
The sadness was a fragile creature –
the weight of black organza –
and yet I am a myth,
desiring nothing more than to pull
the strings that choke me.
But it’s gentle sometimes,
sneaking in like a moth,
as soft as a ballerina’s skin
and barbed wire.
Our wires danced across the dance floor,
and if you watch,
we might just choke on the memory,
the softness of sadness, and
the gentle lull of love.
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Isabelle Palerma 
The muscle nestled between your ribsfelt like a boulder I was incapable of swallowing,I am a myth…”
Ammit. Are you Ammit?
Will you have mercy if not worthy?
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I love the reference to Ammit. She honestly didn’t cross my mind, but now, of course, she’s all I can think of when I reread this.
I’m not the one who judges whether one is worthy or not.
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I am lost in this mansion you have built, Poetess. I have one candle in this lantern and the sun falls. I seek a poem lost. I cant find it. There were stars. My memory fails expertly and I didn’t etch the title into myself. Ill continue my haunt searching.
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Continue to search, and I hope soon, you’ll find it. I wish I could help you find it, but I don’t know which words you needed. Your words are lovely as well. I’m so fortunate to have your words nearby.
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Certain words are truly like stars and even were I deaf, blind, and lost I would follow and seek out your words. Certain words feel like home and how silly would I be to lose track of that.
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I’ll be dutiful. Ill continue my search.
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