Rising

Eye contact
the intimacy involved
in a gaze
that does not look away
even when my own
breaks
from the vulnerability of it.

Falling for him isn't
falling at all.
It's a form of rising
into something
greater than myself.

Rising into
a choice
of selecting
healthy thoughts
to believe
over maladaptive
pervasive
patterns of painful ones.

My body opens for him
and not simply to please
but to be pleasured in return.

He told me in some ways
it feels like I'm
a part of him.

He is steady
secure
he is calming.

I like the idea
of my own self
being a part
of him.
And he of my own.

Falling for him
isn't falling at all.
I don't feel a need
to be caught.
I feel the impulse
to rise.

Reflection

She says to me,

“You get to figure this all out. 
What a beautiful
challenge to overcome.”

She suggests I look
not to the trauma
or the pain
but the fear.
Fear of being left.
Fear of being seen. 

“You look through lenses
scratched and clouded.
You feel through fear.
Until you know your ground,
until you know
what you want
and expect nothing less,
you’ll continue to question.
You’ll continue to feel doubt.”

I look to her
tears decades old
decorate my face. 

“So what now?”

She looks at me with
a knowing smile.

“You already know.” 

Under construction

My craft is my work
navigating conversations
Observing patterns
of thought and behavior
Responding in ways
that can be clearly heard
by the person sitting in front of me.

My art is my listening
the way I allow space
for a person
to freely express all that’s in them.
the light and the dark,
the in between.

My craft is understanding trauma and its presentations.
My art is understanding my own.