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