I like
that you do not
inspire in me
sad poems
and wistful hope.
Hope isn't something
needed
between you and I.
I anticipate
I ask
and receive.
Tag: my writing
Easy
It's a word
and you're a man
of intentional speech
words
carefully crafted
thoughtfully delivered.
"I love you,"
eyes burrowed into
my own.
"I love you, too."
I am a woman
who uses words
emotionally
lightly.
With you
I take a breath
my mind slows
I seek intentionality.
I look to
the source of my heart's
peace
I reflect.
I decide what I've chosen.
I will love you
when you are free
while you are
choosing time
for yourself.
When you seek
space
When you need silence.
I won't simply
love you
when it’s easy.
I will love you
when there's
distance.
When I
lose sight of
us and only
see me.
I will
love you
when you’re
reading the news
or watching YouTube videos
or working too hard.
I chose to love you.
And I will love you
freely.
I will love you
at your
freest.
Sand
I arrive at the
front door of a house
that holds
the dynamics
of family
as pervasive
and as deep
as a bloodline.
At the doorstep I
witness the
lines of
victim-hood
blended with
the incessant
need to be right.
In the doorway
I take a breath
in anticipation.
I notice the sand
that's been carried in on
the feet of
my beloved
family members.
I don't want to feel
the sand
on the bottoms of my own
or on the seat of my chair
or the floor of the shower.
I wonder
about the
rifts 20 years
in the making
and what they've
done to the floors
of this home.
They seem as
ubiquitous
and invisible
until felt
as the sand that
found its way
into the
fabrics
of this family.
The floors take the brunt of it
scratched and rubbed down
until layers of coating
are exposed raw
until the foundation of this
home cannot
hold the weight
of what we bring to it.
At the doorway
I look inside.
I see my mom and
her sister sitting
at the kitchen table.
I wonder what it is
I do not know
about the sand
between their own toes
particles they may not even
feel anymore
since its become
ingrained
into the way things are.
I don't want to feel
the sand
on the bottoms of my feet
or on the seat of my chair
or the floor of the shower.
Sand belongs on the
shoreline
where the ocean can
do with it
as she pleases.
Here, the sand
clogs and scratches
it irritates and hollows.
I take another breath
remove my shoes.
I wash my feet of the
abrasive
and the stubborn.
I take care not to step
in the sand
my family
carries in.
Changing tides
I see the water meet the sky’s edge
I expand, here.
I take in what's changed
what's remained.
I remember the moments
I came to her shore
seeking something other
than what was,
seeking answers.
Today
I come to her
with a new request.
Her waves sing
and I ask for witness
as I recognize
my own growth.
I seek her
expanding memory
so that when I forget
she’ll remind me
that tides change
and so do I.
In joy
What
is joy
compared to
a lasting
ache
In joy
I lack the
preoccupation
the restless attachment
the wondering if
my feelings are matched
or returned at all
In joy
all I have
is the way
you leaned in to kiss me
The memory of standing
in the stairwell
you held my gaze
you held me
to share you’re not
seeing anyone else
All I have
are the hands
that didn’t let go of mine
from that first kiss
in the middle of your kitchen
I’m not sure how to write
in joy
But I can try.
I don’t want to feel
Let there be an exorcism.
I don’t want to feel.
I want to let love in
and not the tortured kind
the view
I’ve looked through
and looked to.
I want to be love.
I want to be loved in return.
Enough
Slow down
Speed up
No one
appears satisfied
with the pace I choose.
Light
He witnessed
what I had to offer,
it wasn't his to receive.
I still wonder
as I make room for the night
what it could be like
if he shared his own with me.
There is no voice louder than my own (lavender)
I wish I could describe
the voice in my head,
with all its power,
as kind.
As a friend.
On its fifth hour
of circling around
with reminders
of what I do not deserve,
I look to another voice
any other sound,
to silence my own.
A friend sends me the song
"Lavender".
For a moment,
my mind calms.
My chest makes space
for breath.
After a few minutes
of peaceful silence
I let me voice speak.
This time it's easier on me.
Maybe the voice in my head
is in need of a friend.
A kind word.
An embrace.
Some lavender.
Performance
You will go to perform
for them.
I go to perform
for you.