Her

She has my back, when I let her 

She is far more loyal than I give her credit for

Sometimes she has to raise her voice a bit

Sometimes she has to punch me square in the gut so I can hear her over the breath she takes away

She has quite a southpaw and can stun me flat

It's when she whispers in her patient shadows that things get shady 

She tells me things I already know and I pretend to not understand 

She has her own dialect that I unconsciously decipher 

It alternates between rhythmic beats of rushing blood and the tingling invisible on my skin

There are no fingerprints that I can see, just feel

And still, too often, I let her down

I question her methods, her voice, her value

She laughs - and might even roll her eyes - but continues to value herself, even when I don't 

She's tried to teach me that value for years

I've compromised under her weight 

I've tried to silence her with reprogramming 

I've crushed her heart with my suspicions and my outright denial of her

I've even allowed others into the space that belongs only to her

And yet, she is relentless in her dedication to me

She is beautifully violent in her commitment to herself!

What I search most for on this earth

What I seek to live out loud through my skin

She already is.

She is mine.

I am hers

She knows everyone

Even if they don't know her

Her name is Intuition.