Querencia
An overthinker; her mind was bait
One to overshare; then memories were fate.
She walked through the alley
With footsteps in the back that echoed frailly
And seemed to ambit her wit’s old gambit.
“It’s your hamartia, dear
You think so harsh, it’s causing you fear.
A fatal flaw that’ll eat you raw
And leave you insecure to be the bullseye
Of matadors who seek spite so high.
She was told, she was warned,
Hurt, and terribly scorned.
Her thoughts turned intrusive, her lips
Spelled Judas as they betrayed, spilling the beans
That she had carefully quipped.
But it so occurred, one night
The alley that manifested her greatest fright.
Consumed, devoured, and concealed her plight.
She overshared, but the conundrum in her head
Was untangled by the words she overly spread.
She knew she felt safe
As long as the words fell out to get aid.
The voices in her head, found an outlet so great.
“It’s hamartia”- they said.
“Querencia”- Her lips, they shed.
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