So They Say

“Angels we have heard on high” so they say,
Haven’t seen any signs as my energy darkens.
Bitterness and frustration drip down
Smearing makeup and staining clothes.
Haven’t felt any strokes of grace to counter the
Pall that conceals a light that falters
Choked by fear and defeat.

If angels are out there, please heed my call.
Show me a sign,
Touch me with your grace,
Give me something
To hold on to.

©Esther Moreira


Orange Eclipse

The man in the business suit and red tie,

Showed up one day and said things,

Spoke with no filter or propriety.

The man in the business suit and red tie,

Surfaced with a message for the people who,

Shipped intolerance with hostility.

The man in the business suit and red tie,

Shined a light on the hidden radicalization of,

Sullen people unwilling to embrace the “others”.

Trump took this maelstrom of negativity and won this hand. 

©Esther Moreira

Broken Inside

I see the broken, dead pigeon. His wings flap ineffectually in the breeze as he dangles from his broken foot trapped in the small space on the railing. I gaze at him and wonder if that’s what I’ve become. I have to be broken inside. No one has ever chosen to love me. I have always been alone, even when surrounded by friends and family. I feel stuck, trapped by invisible forces. By fear. By my narrow mind. So many speak of heartbreak but I can only give you hearsay examples. No one has broken my heart. No one has gotten close enough to know me. No one has taken a chance to see me. I laugh and joke and show off my pretty face, but I hide my heart behind flippant responses and sometimes cruel judgements. I am so afraid to let people in, even though fragments of me disappear in solitude.
©Esther Moreira


Support InstaWriters August Prompts hosted by @journee_nicole and @t.alva

August 14th prompt – Weeping Willow by @christy_aldridge


I walk past a mirror and hope I’m not too “black”.
I walk out the door and hope I make it back home.
I walk past some cops and hope nothing I do “scares” them.
I walk into a store and hope the owner doesn’t accuse me of theft.
I walk past a nice house and hope the owners don’t assume I’m suspicious.
I walk out of my house each day knowing it could be my last.


©Esther Moreira

The Rides

Looking at the carnival rides 

bathed in a darkness that

light cannot shatter I am

aware of the fear that hides

beneath my breastbone.

Looking at the carnival rides 

with their rigid animal seats

in unnatural positions I see

the paths I have lost

because of my cowardice.

Looking at the carnival rides 

worn down and in need of repair

with no end in sight I realize

that to keep the flicker of hope alive I will 

need love and faith and joy.

© Esther Moreira

for #MayBookPrompts