I never fit the mold of this place—
a jagged shard in a puzzle too pristine.

Earth pulls at me like a weight I was never meant to bear,
its rivers don’t whisper my name,
its skies refuse my gaze.

Somewhere else,
the version of me that belongs spins in an endless sunlit dance,
a goddess of her own making.
She moves like honey spilling slow from time’s edge,
unrushed, steady, untouched by the gravity of now.

Her laughter echoes through dimensions,
liquid gold, unreachable.
I see her hair streaming like solar winds,
bare feet brushing velvet sands.
She knows joy like I know yearning—
effortless, eternal, complete.

Here, I’m a half-formed echo,
chasing fragments of her in my reflection.
I wear her shadow like a cloak that doesn’t fit,
its seams straining to hold me.

This air doesn’t belong to me.
If I stepped through the veil,
would I become her?
Would the jagged edges smooth?
Would the sun warm my skin
instead of blistering it away?

Or maybe I’ll remain,
etching her name into constellations,
straining to recall
what it felt like to be whole.