A kiss at midnight
in a naked lake, its waves
gray as razor blades,
turns out to be a dead fish
slapping my face – God this hurts.

A morning musing of a muse

Enjoying the beauty of the stargazer lilies

Remembering the stars in the sky before slumber

How her morning breath

Rolls in a fog like the ghosts rising 

From dew kissed grass

Up to the heavens 

A vapor disintegrated into the clouds

How her mind spins 

A carasouel of thought

The many splendors she can enjoy

Her body being able to hold

All the delectable hedonism

Fruit drippings from her chin

Like those from below

Toes curled into the mossy earth

Fingers laced through tall blades of grass

Eyes mesmerized by all that is beautiful

Whether that is you

Whether that is me

She finds desire and inspiration

In all that stirs her heart

In the magic of the earth

Vibrating through her bones

As if the earth’s heart

Were beating in sync with her own

To be this moved

To carry this much power

In how she carries herself

A pure force to be reckoned wtih 

A power that is not her ego

But a reality of who she is

She walks forward and stands tall

A pure delight of all that wonder

because you locked up faith and starved her of love
fed her only on scraps of shame and grief
said the sunlight on her skin was a sin and she must pay
must pay
because grace without groveling would offend pride
and your pride will be prized above all else I guess

it’s the way you won’t see that makes me crazy
mistaking the red mark your slap left on my cheek
for rouge

(one of many working drafts exploring my thoughts and pain related to the idea that leaving the church does not, for me, mean leaving faith, but grieving for all the harm done over thousands of years, and exploring what post-church faith looks like in my life)

To dream is to be in love with everything

Show me life as it wades, insuppressible

To create is to be fearless

Let magic slip from my fingertips, unwritten

To love is to be a fool

Melt with me, indefinitely

To learn is to be told you know nothing

For the best, you may never understand

I don’t want you now

I have someone, I am loved

More than I could be

With you, but I saw

You have a girlfriend now, right?

Someone new, someone

Who is not me, so

I wonder how you treat her

Who you are to her

How come she gets you

What person have you become

That she feels cherished

Why could you not be

The person you are for her

Back when I loved you

Dream I’m at the mall, say, “I love you,” ten times or more.
          I like pretending more when I’m not the only one doing it.
                   Think about calling you up and breathing down the line. 
                                  Think about sitting  in front of your house all night. 
    
Say, “I’m at the mall,” dream I love you ten times or more. 
        Do you think about it too? Always chewing on my brainstem. 
                   I won’t tell anyone. This time, I promise, I won’t tell anyone.  
                                Put your hand on the back of my neck and squeeze. Hard. 

Dream I’m you, at the mall, ten times. “I love more.” Say it. Say it.
             It’s mostly a teeth-clenched affair. Tongue bitten red and raw. 
                       My mouth has always been a pool of blood. You should know.
                                You used to drink from it. Do you remember how it tastes?
    
I love the mall. Dream you ten times. Ten times. Say “more.” 
             The other shoe drops right on top of my head, every time.
                         Check my email like it’s going to bring something back- 
                                   Curl up in a bed that isn’t mine, click all the lights off. 
    

Small wild parchments

yellow petals

in symmetry

unfold with grace

before I arrive

by morning

where I can see them

sitting atop

tall spiked stems

swaying as the wind

blows clear

through their space

without harm to these

yellow brights

But it is the Sun

their greatest rival

that beats so hard

dropping red hot irons

from the sky

the afternoon

inside an oven

one petal falls

at a time

I see you let go

and release

what is beautiful

to the end

And in only one day

for that is

all there is

you teach me

to release

like petals

what is lost

and to let words go

as one must

in poetry

knowing

there will be more

Staring at the mirror
My mind plays tricks
Looking out at me
Not the me I recognize
I see an old woman
Something about her familiar
Her eyes
The light of wonder still there
Her smile
Slightly crooked but strong
Her Face
Shows signs of a life well-lived
A life blessed by God
I’m grateful for
I remember
It’s Me

A weight unseen, a hand on your throat,

Squeezing the air from your voice, your dreams.

Words like iron bars, confining your spirit,

Dictating your path, leaving you unseen. 

History whispers, a chorus of silenced cries,

Of freedoms denied, of lives deemed less. 

The color of skin, the curve of a hip, 

A reason to ostracize, to oppress. 

Laws etched in stone, pronouncements from on high,

Denying your right to love, to exist, to be. 

Forced confirmity, a suffocating mold,

Shattering individuality, ruthlessly.

But defiance flickers, a spark in the dark,

A quiet rebellion, a yearning to break free. 

Voices rise in unison, a chorus bold and strong, 

Demanding justice, equity for all to see. 

The weight may be heavy, the path may be long, 

But hope remains, a fire that burns bright. 

For in the struggle for freedom, a power resides, 

To dismantle the cages, and claim back the light.

Mom bought a new bottle at the drugstore,
So we sat down, uncomfy carpet beneath us, hunching over the rounded coffee table
Movie picking was the most troublesome until we decided on a trash romcom rewatch
Or are forced to watch one of Dad’s games on ESPN,
Ranging from Fulham Soccer to UNC basketball

Then I grab her calloused hands and coat them messily with a clear base,
Making sure not to get any in the open wounds from her hangnails
And apologizing profusely when I did

My wrist always hurts from shaking the polish
And the side of my fingers always ache after opening it,
But then I take my cursed hand, and I apply the color onto her short but wide nails
My hands shake terribly, but Mom says it’s fine, I’m not a professional nail tech, but my only client loves my scribiley and uneven job,
I’m not sure why