Wild horses run untamed for miles and for once I feel the breeze on my face.
Hitchhikers may be escaping and this pain is an inmate.
I inherited the constant thoughts
Speak your truth,
even stumble on a word or two.
I came to see the damage, but instead found a woman who spoke to me about love.
And just as the wind ceased, I was given all these words.
Now I am sitting by the window waiting for the rain to prevail.
The breeze slaps my face in return,
and for miles my soul untamed.
Andrea dC. Mendoza