try to turn into a river. spend less time plugged.
spend less time trying to be someone somebody could love, more time actually...
it takes a mountain of courage
but this re-building,
it is the only path to loving yourself
inside your flesh again.
and then there are the less glamerous days. on these days the sun is your enemy and your face is not your face at all. your face is your father's depression. and these days you do not comb your hair. your heart a tangled nest, too. (except there are no doves here.)
your lover asks what is wrong. you say nothing...everything.
you believe both. you get angry because you know you cannot be both fire and water but somehow, you are. burning and drowning at the same time.
your lover asks how long you've been feeling this way. you say a week...forever.
you are unsure of either.
on these days you cry and your face floods. you're still breathing through, the rain cannot drown the ocean. and so you continue to exist this way. both the capsized ship and the life raft.
both whole and broken, we are, these days.
when you're broken, defeated, hurt, betrayed, or abandoned.
when your darkness will not let you find your light.
your existence is not contingent upon the oppressors of your soul.
these wars did not -will not- rob you of your strength.
you, my dear,
are a living, breathing example of
of what it looks like to walk through the depths of hell and still
choose to rise.
LIVING IN YOUR FIRE
the moment i met him i felt
his love gave me
permission to be
do not make this same mistake
i will one day tell my daughter
the only permission you need to shine
in this world
if your own.
your wreckage doesn't mean
that you're beyond repair.
you are simply falling.
the kind that re-builds.
the kind that catches you. mid air.
before you hit the ground.
the kind that swims upstream.
that works against the urge to crumble
as the world begs you to crack.
the kind of love
you wouldn't believe
the war it took to strip myself
of the habit of folding into myself
over and over
over. and. over.
reducing myself to
before i would ever
claim one once of desire.
i dare you
to spend as much time being
as you do rehearsing conversations
that will never leave
the landscape of your lips
- true conviction lives in your throat
use you damn voice
it doesn't matter how beautiful she is
make sure she knows she is valued first
that you hear her heart
that you feel her soul
that her laugh is constellations exploding
only after she knows should you bore her
with tales of the geography of her skin
the way the curves of her breasts leave you
that her spine leaves honey dripping
from your lips
it doesnt matter how beautiful she is.
i promise she longs to be more than a
to your pleasure.
SOUL OVER BODY
i am so so
sorry. for this ending.
which is to say
i am sorry that what
will never be what
there is something
in the sunshine.
and it eats me
the way a word does
when it builds a home on the tip of your tongue
but never makes itself known in your throat.
it's hard to capture
i can't turn my letters into words.
but when i kiss him
in the sunshine
(oh god when i kiss him)
i can taste how i want the poem to feel.
have you ever experienced that?
someone whose very being
becomes a portal to the world
you want to live in?
all this living hurts.
so i find the smallest part of myself
and crawl in there.
force myself to endure claustrophobia
and dig trenches between the gaps of my ribs.
it's safe here
i tell myself
you will be safe here
god. oh god.
oh my GODthefuckingpainofthis.
this. the perpetuity of living
inside a cage.
of being trapped inside
a body that doesn't agree with its
in our own way
it is oksy to remove your heart
from the walls of your body
in order to heal.
(and you wil heal)
the most beautiful creations in the world
you are the most beautiful thing.
take all the time you need.
OPEN HEART SURGERY
be a little bolder
than you're capeable of owning
i welcome myself into a new day by
shaking off my dreams
and asking my mind to show me my pollution;
the contaminating thoughts that say
i cant. i'm not good enough. what if i fail.
i listen patiently to each thought of self-doubt
and then line them up one by one.
as i softly take each thought by the hand
i guide it back into the dirt below my feet
and create little seeds of self-love instead.
i whisper to doubt
there is no room for weeds in my garden
- what you water will grow
i am learning to never surrender
when it comes to matters of
refusing to hide
the ugly bits,
the pieces of me that reek calamity;
the utter chaos.
please hear me when i tell you this
i shout to my heart when my body
starts to forget.
do not water down your mind
to appease the people
just dipping their toes into your endless
the ones who are not seeking to understand
but instead trying to change your tide.
magic happens when people are confronted with the whole of you.