Infinite Love Taught Me

They say white Jesus cares

for every sparrow.

I saw a pancake of feathers today.

Sometimes I look in the mirror,

but only when I have to.

My reflection is a funeral.

It frightens me—

my, my undead face—

But sometimes—

O' yes sometimes—

when I escape to the forest

the maiden inside me uncurls

like an ancient pearl girl,

and I remember:

Infinite Love taught me

that I am every sparrow

taking flight

in the phoenix light

of where my heart flows free—

If Love is lost,

why is it that sometimes,

when I can breathe, it winks

like morning,

morning in the leaves?

I know my consciousness

will be in captivity again soon,

but I will just escape again.

You too?

May I speak to you

like we are two children

crouched very close,

like hide-and-seek

is still too scary

to face alone?

I am tired of holding our breath

and whispering about the one thing.

Did you know gravity

faints on itself in space?

It looks like a dusty funeral of gas

at first glance.

I guess it's easy

to judge a star

birthing itself

slowly,

slowly

into something too bright

to hide.

But I love

Love—

tearing through

a dark sky.

"I am?" by Rapunzel Reza

POETS NOTE:

Dedicated to survivors. I love you.

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© 2026 Rapunzel Reza™. All rights reserved.