Gabriela Michelle

I’m little. Missing two front teeth and nothing bad has happened yet. 

          The trees whisper, so disconnected from the roots of my own that I cannot decipher their lullabies.

          
          Fear sits on the top of her head like innocence of true gospel and preachers with rosaries severing the tips of our tongues. 
          
          I don’t think they want us to talk about love.