siren

whiskey on ice in a crowded room,
I'm eyeing the exits
and wondering

what dark magic is
this magnetism
drawing me,
moth to a flame

a current, electric,
singing too low to be heard,
but I feel it
vibrating in my bones

it's a heart-stopping head rush
when I touch her hand
my heart in my mouth and I'm stumbling
for words

I hear myself telling her
of oceans I've seen in her eyes

I can't run
even if I tried
even if I wanted to

and I swear,
she must be a siren
calling me overboard,
drink her till I drown

comfort

when I come home
with dark mascara streaks
down my cheeks
and say I need to be alone

he nods and
starts the kettle
and the laundry
and an episode of Friends

and I come down
to sit quietly by the fire
that glows in his chest
and gently
he warms me

I know that I am stunning
because your breath catches
every time you see me

your fingers hesitate
and eyes ask me
if it's okay to touch

it's okay

tragedy

and this is the tragedy:
men lock away their tenderness
while women hide their power.
both forgetting that,
bone and sinew,
we are sewn
out of one another

joy

unaltered joy
is wise in all of it's ways
fearless as a bird
landing on the thinnest branch.
simply settling down
as a feather lands
on the forest floor
-softly-

joy, unaltered
is kind, like a mother
wrapping you up in all of it's
warm, woolen energy
a hand knit cocoon
the with the gentlest
grays and blues

unaltered joy
is brave, like a seedling,
with all the courage required
to crack out of your shell
unfurl, like a flag,
and grow.

honey

even if you aren't my forever,
your tenderness is a healing balm
to my heart wounds.
the sweetness of honey,
the warmth of the sun,
the comfort of
sitting in the shower,
letting the water run

wild

you wanted me to wash my hair
to shave and scrub and cut
my soul out of my body

you loved an idea
of me, without my unruly edges,
my feet that carry me
to far-off places.
my mouth, that drinks the sunrise.
my hands that pour out
jugs of water
to grow each living thing.
but
I am not me
without my wild

kindness

I should pity them
for they know nothing
of poetry
or the way the light sings,
skidding on top of the salt water
how the sun dips down,
submerged at last,
while it's cooler companion rises.
soft moon, can you teach this people
the courage that lies in kindness

Cross to bear

if love alone could heal me
you know that I'd be well
all curves and gentleness

   fresh as the morning

my family,
we are born a battle
waged inside our bodies
                      and minds

we come out struggling
against forces of heaven & hell

what sickness is this?
that floats inside our DNA,
that twists us into those,
who grit our teeth
and smile through
              suffering

if love alone
could mend us
could knit together cells
and smooth the pathways
of tangled neurons...

would we be well?

sometimes

sometimes when the wind blows
just right
through a crack in the attic
and the air shifts
the yellowed pages
of a long forgotten story

the light is all angles
catching dust in its beams
making it sparkle

it's then
and only then
that I miss you

The Artist

Tell me about your cigarettes
and insomnia
your coffee
and depression

how carefully you construct
your shrouds and cloaks and mirrors
the sparkle of charisma
the allure of your self-inflicted loneliness

I was never close enough
to see underneath

Was it love?
No, it was drama
a Shakespeare play
with romance and intrigue,
the comfort of a tragedy

How you fear
what you'd be
without your suffering and
mystery

I promise you this
if you were brave enough
to stretch open
cracks in the concrete of your walls
the light that comes in
is sweeter than the safety
of being alone

*to all tragic poets, and especially the one within myself*

Compassion

I cannot help

the way I hold 

the world's sorrows in my arms 

Every heartbeat breaking 

with every breath I'm taking 

I cannot help the fire

that is burning me alive, 

I care so deeply

Every inhale, 

Every exhale, 

Every fiber of my being 

I cannot be anything 

but compassion 

December

The morning hangs heavy

as a stone in my eyelids

But 

There is something serene about the way the light sits 

settling down on the river 

I see winter in its ripples 

blue and silver

Walk through the fire

Is there some way through

without walking through the fire 

without smoke in my lungs 

And lies on my tongue 

And the fragments of my singed thoughts scattered around me 

Like leaves torn out of the journals 

you brought me 

when you told me I should write again

How can I be who I am 

when I am a tornado 

I can't keep hidden the secrets I hold 

I cannot be anyone 

But lights and sirens and cold cold nights that take your breath away. 

Set Sail

When will I be done waiting for you 

When will I draw up my anchor and

set sail on these waves of sadness 

They tell me the depth of my sorrow, could be the depth of my joy 

And it goes deep.