NPM 2018: When the universe laughs at you (Day 9)

When the universe laughs at you
Written April 5, 2018

It's funny.
Hindsight is so respectable,
calculating missteps and mistakes
among pitfalls and bad breaks
and piling up your honors
in sad little corners
just to be forgotten,
lost and rotten
like there's no one they matter to
and while we're at it, neither do you.

It's funny.
Memory is intangible but
it can be caught in winter air,
reminders of how change isn't fair,
and from a stranger an awkward glance
tells you there are not second chances
because history says you are just too much
leaving you here, knowing you're
not enough.

It's funny.
All the lies that life tells you,
like that your thoughts have a place to go
between summer squalls and April snow,
like your spirit has a way of moving out
and can leave your body to do without
and all the while forgetting
that above there's no one betting
against you or your striving
or your trying-to-stay-alive-ing.

It's funny.
Humanity fails tremendously
but putting all of its tender trust
in an ambivalent universe or pixie dust
when all along there's a Creator
usually content to wait out your anger
and once you're done with all the lies
the truth shoots you between the eyes.

It's funny.
Everything stops eventually
and where all roads and stories end
you confront your oldest, truest friend.
The one who's seen all the trouble you're having,
who's coordinated all that you're planning,
who sees the life at which you're grasping,
sees you, knows you, and isn't laughing.

National Poetry Month 2018: What I Have to Offer (Day 1)

Hello friends! Welcome back to the blog. I have posted about three and a half times since last April, which is a testament to A. How busy I've been and B. How important it is to blog during other times of the year.

Once again, I will be posting a poem a day for the month of April. Some of them will be written during this month and some of them will be older, but I promise that (unless you have access to my secret poetry blog) you haven't seen them before.

Enjoy

What I Have to Offer
Written October 16, 2017

Here is what I give to you,
to all of you, the least of you,
to the most deserving but also
those who want it gone.
I will give it for all and forever.
The gift goes on and on.

It is soft like mothers’ whispers,
if you are battered by sound.
It gently beats, never retreats,
it is safe to speak around.

But it is also for the others
who need to hear it thunder,
who need to feel the shake of life
to wake them from the dead of night,
to throttle fear into disarray,
this is what I give away.

I cannot give it otherwise,
it can only laugh or cry,
it is not stable, it does not merit
apathy, if you can bear it.

And I cannot keep it to myself,
or to only one of you, the least of you,
I cannot only give to the best of you,
I can only give it to completion,
without fullness there is no creation,
it simply will cease to be.

I don’t care if you don’t want it.
It’s already out of my hands.
I have to give it away, it’s just
who I am.

NPM Day 27 {Roundabout}

This poem used to give me chills. They were sort of good chills, sort of bad chills. When I wrote this over seven years ago, they were my only way of processing one of the biggest fights with a friend I've ever experienced. I honestly can't even remember what the fight was about, but it went on for several months longer than I felt capable of enduring.

All I had were these words. 

And I've avoided this poem over the years, but it doesn't have power over me anymore. 

So here you go.

Roundabout

February 12, 2010

You are the friend of my conveniences,

coffee cups cold with petty sympathies.

You are a walk in the dark,

the translation of my nightmares,

and you lay your hands down on me

like a sacrificial beast into the flames.

You bear the knife in clammy palms,

breathing out my fate like a grudge

that holds on hopelessly.

You are the arrow that misses my heart

a thousand times too many for pity.

You stab me in the back

and apologize. You are so sorry.

Patterns go roundabout, but maybe

you will hit the target next time.

You are the accumulation of ice,

the shivering abandonment of reason.

You stab me in the back

and apologize. You are so sorry.

Patterns go roundabout,

yes is a maybe and maybe means no.

You stab me in the back

and sympathize. You are so sorry

that I am such a sorry sight.

You stab me in the hand

and put the blade in my bloody fingers

and you scream for me.

You say I did it to myself and

you say it's all my fault and

you stab me in the heart and

patronize. You are so sorry

that I don't see it your way.

NPM Day 18 {Landlocked}

Landlocked
November 17, 2016

Each night, unsleeping eyes
see her face and dream of
reconciling
on a distant shore.
The waves pull me
into nightmares
where she is sorry
and she explains
although I never hear the words.
In slumber my sobs
are so frightfully real
unlike her anger
which was always
and is still, all these years,
so silent.
And medicated
I see her more clearly,
free of the anxiety
yet still anxiously seeking her out.
I wonder if there is a reason
for her midnight eyes
behind my blue,
for her mischief
inside my somnolent visions.
Crashing against the rocks
of consciousness
I am only reminded
our reunion is not real,
she has left me for good,
and there is no ocean

to bring us together.

NPM Day 11 {Contain}

Contain
August 31, 2016

Infant tears unmeasured.

Wrinkles uncounted, unsurprised.

I tried to save sand in my pockets.

I attempted to hold whole lives.

Slipping away like sunbeams.

The last sign of light is the best.

What we contain cannot be known.

What remains is the test.

NPM Day 8 {Even You}

Even You
August 18, 2016

It is not for sinners,
vagabonds encrusted
by a lifetime’s angry soiling.
It is not for the redeemed,
the purified or vilified
or sanctified by
personal efforts.
It is not for your goodness,
for your righteous silence,
or task-oriented piety.
It is not a compensation
for your surrender
or your gratitude
or your penance.
It is not earned
but wholly entrusted,
thrust upon you brazenly
that may often feel
like a reward
but can weigh you down
like someone else’s burden.
And it is not delivered
because you asked,
even though you may.
It is given
because we are all in need.
Even you.

NPM Day 5 {Practical}

Practical
October 2, 2016

I felt it today.
Between zipping up my jacket
and the realization
I wore the wrong shoes for rain.
You were always so
practical
but your amusement did not follow
my foolishness today.
I could feel your spirit
leaving me,
turning through the air,
fading like wisps
from cradled teacups.
Your absence is
a settled weight
pulling down the shutters
then collapsing at the window
and I can hardly bare it,
knowing you are gone.
I felt it with such strength
when we said goodbye
I swallowed the pain
and now it sits like a rock,
holding me here in the dark.
I have held you closer
than expected,
but like every breath
of fresh air
I must let you go

or we will both cease to be.

NPM 2016: Day 30 {A Shameful Event}

The final day of National Poetry Month has arrived. Thank you all for reading my poems, even if they aren't easily understood or if they seem melodramatic. (Some of them are. Oh well.) While I enjoy sharing my poems with others the process is really an internal, reflective one. It gives me a perspective on myself and the person I have been, the writer I have been, over the last 12 months. Sharing that process with you, whoever you are, takes a great deal of vulnerability. Perhaps in years to come I will explain more. I will describe the context of the poem. I'll tell you who I was then and who I've become and how writing said poem changed me. We'll see.

For now, enjoy the final poem.

A Shameful Event
April 30, 2016

It doesn't matter
that it's happened before,
a perpetual frustration
of artistic endeavor,
a shameful event
that we all somehow
succumb to
in unfocused moments.
But I am resolved.
I have arranged
this sacred space
and settled myself
in the middle
of the chaos,
and no matter what
happened before,
and no matter what
happens next,
I will not
under any circumstance
dip my paintbrush in my tea.

NPM 2016: Day 28 {Tell Me}

Tell Me
April 25, 2016

Don't tell me I can do it.
Don't tell me
that you believe in me.
Don't tell me
I am capable,
I am worthy,
I am worth it.
Don't tell me
because when you do
I'm reminded
of all the voices
that ever said I can't,
that ever said I'm not,
that ever said
anything less
--even if the voice
was mine--
and I weep
in the recollection
and fall down inside myself
and whatever it is
I'm doing,
I could do,
I'm capable of
and worthy of
I will stop.

NPM 2016: Day 21 {Carried Away}

Carried Away

March 30, 2016

This is freshwater on old sand,
lake waves on somber driftwood,
windswept sunshine on winter skin
and it will smooth out all your rough edges.

You are not too sharp for secrets,
you are not too dull to be carried away,
and so the water calls out to you
and asks you to be brave
in spite of the dusky, cold, depths
soaking you to the bone.
Where the water once was blue
so were you, too dark to touch,
and now all the sand is unsettled
like these thoughts, and out tumble
words in the shapes of sea shells,
small but strong, rugged and beautiful.
Everything here was once something else.
Once a tree, once a bottle, once a brick--

all fragments of former wonders,
casting shadows on who you used to be.
Don't be afraid of the waves.
They will not swallow you,
only carry you to another shore.

NPM 2016: Day 20 {Notes on not being set free}

Notes on not being set free
January 26, 2016 

I am given grace
needlessly.
You pass over me
with white smiles
but black thoughts
hover near,
waiting.
It seems
you extend mercy
only when
I am within reach.

NPM 2016: Day 19 {The Sound (Just)}

The Sound (Just)
September 30, 2015

We passed 300 midnights
just awake within the sound.
I can barely remember it anymore–
the chilling alertness I felt
as that serendipitous chime
resonated among books and silence.
I just don’t have the energy.
What was a hopeful melody
has become a foreign dissonance,
a flawed note in a forgotten voice,
or perhaps above all things
just a noise.

NPM 2016: Day 12 {Personal Effects}

A slightly comical reflection from my first week taking antidepressants. Not meant to be idolizing antidepressants. I wrote it while laughing (and feeling dizzy, among other things.)

Personal Effects
December 15, 2015

This is an ode
to vertigo
and no appetite
and sleeping
with no blankets.
We bow to thee
vertigo,
no appetite,
no blankets.
We place you on the pedestal
above the altar
where you slew
the ravenous,
workaholic,
suicidal
beast
and we would lift our hands in praise
if only the world
would stop spinning.
Maybe we should
eat something or
go back to bed.

A New Season

I've been absent from the blog for over three months, so it's safe to say a new post is long overdue. Of course, you're all in luck, because it's almost my favorite month of the year: April! And we all know what that means. (In case you've forgotten, April is National Poetry Month, which equals a post/poem for every single day.)

Ahem.

Before I prepare you all for the wonder and joy of NPM, I should give some  updates, since my last post was somber--for good reason--and slightly ominous. I re-read it very briefly, to review my state of mind at the time, and couldn't get through it because things have certainly changed since then.

I'm not the first person on the internet to divulge details about depression and anxiety. I know that. I didn't expect to get an onslaught of sympathetic notes or anything. But part of the tragedy of depression is that we so often, for a multitude of reasons, feel as if our depressed state is something to be hidden or dismissed. I have been among those secretive people, deciding that I am fine and behaving as if I am fine to the best of my ability until I simply can't handle it anymore. I chose to express myself in a blog because it seemed to be the most honest way of admitting I needed assistance and also explaining why I had to make some difficult choices.

In any case, it has been an interesting three months.

For the first time since I was 19 I started an antidepressant. The first round was fascinating, especially the first week. I considered blogging the first week to talk about my extreme exhaustion due to the medication and wanted desperately to talk about my vivid dreams. My favorite side effect is definitely the vivid dreams. I've written previously about how realistic my dreams are, but these are on a whole new plane of fantasy. Usually I'm able to tell myself while dreaming if something is real or not--for instance, if something really terrible has happened or I'm scared, I can calm myself down and convince myself that it's not real and eventually I will wake up. But not anymore. Unicorns? Totally real in my dreams. Rainbows? They actually taste delicious. And don't get me started on the people I've dreamed about. Basically, I have no way to differentiate between subconscious concepts or reality. 

Other than the dreams, the exhaustion, and the incessant jaw-breaking yawns, it has ultimately been a successful experience. 

I can't describe to you the joy of being physically calm and mentally calm at the same time. Don't get me wrong, there are still plenty of stressful things in my life and moments filled with anxiety, but they no longer overwhelm my body and brain. I am completely astounded that I have not had any serious side effects and am thankful that this treatment is actually available to me.

Due to this blessing, as strange as it may be to call it a blessing, I have felt more like myself than I have in years. I have been painting a lot. (Sidenote: I redid the blog's design, and the background is one of my fun watercolors!) I have been able to read and draw and develop relationships new and old. I have been able to focus on the good things and handle the bad things.

I'm not going to say I'm happy. Happiness is a temporary, insignificant feeling. My goal is not to be happy. My goal is the ability to find contentment in every circumstance.

Of course, sometimes that circumstance involves going to the beach... and feeling happy.

More later. The next time I write here, it will be a poem. The time after that, it will also be a poem. Because National Poetry Month is coming. So watch out. ;)

NPM: Three, Two, One

I am just barely making it under the wire. But it's been one of those weeks. So, here are the last three poems for National Poetry Month. It has been an adventure, as always. I got to share NPM with my students this year (we studied Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein) so that's a wonderful bonus.

Anyways. Here they are! Until next year.

1. Will Not Persist - April 28, 2015

A child who hangs his head
has a mother, she sighs and swears
when progress will not persist
at the perfect pace
or in tactical timetables.
Every other week he works,
fingers frenzied with paper and pencil,
her grave gaze at the doorway,
as if this helpless hour
will charge the change she seeks.
But no one learns life lessons
from a perpetual pinching,
nor from distant discomfort
that dims or dies in the daylight.
But give a boy a beating
and the man will remember,
take a squandering sum
and the pauper will prevail.
Do not forsake the function
or lament life’s teacher
if you only listen lazily,
as seconds and lessons are lost,
all while you wait,
all while you worry
and will not work.

2. The Confirmation - April 29, 2015

My fear of the future is only equal to
my memory of terrified stillness
and the coldness of abandonment.
I step forward ambitiously,
warm-hearted and open-armed.
But my heart is the sun.
My arms are flaming tongues.
This must confirm the reality
I face in the resulting solitude.
Yet I cannot fade or burn away,
remaining too much, or too little,
who can tell?
All I can conclude is that
where there is no goodbye
there is no justice.

3. Beacon - April 30, 2015

There is a guiding voice
of gilded echoes and force
which judges and passes
each merit or curse
and trebles the ethers
with sanctified meter
behind his mouth.

And there is a song
of persuasive, lifting light
which casts out and contains
what you may love or fight
and waves a beacon
for the heart you weaken
behind your doubt.

NPM: Taking Hold, Etc. (Part 2)

Here is the promised post with more poems, to make up for the extreme lack of them. I thought I would only need 7 to compensate, but I'll need 8. Because it's a new day, which means a new poem.

But don't worry. I've got plenty to spare. Although, watch out for the last one. There's a "swear" in there. So if you read these to children... um, don't. That's weird.

1. Little Red Boat - July 9, 2014

In this story there’s a girl
sleeping in a little red boat.
I could get her into the boat
but not into the water.
I got her into the water
but couldn't make her cross.
She has strong arms
but a tired heart
and she asks me
which is better.
Sleep, or row?
Sleep, row, sleep, row.
So when she closed her eyes
I pushed her into the lake
and the little red boat
drifted away from me.
I got her through the night,
I got her here to the morning,
but I still can’t make her
reach the other side.


2, Fearless v. 4 - July 26, 2014

I will fold and refold
my paper lantern heart,
I will gather a string of lights
around me like a cape,
dancing to the edges
of our shadows,
I will shine in the places
we have made dark
with words of ash.
I will fold
and refold
and mend
and remend
until there is nothing left
but a spark.


3. Fearless v. 10 - August 22, 2014 [edited April 27, 2015]

There is no shame in the truth.
I knew it in the morning, but
didn't feel it until the afternoon
sitting in that somehow desolate office
which smelled of black coffee.
There were droplets of rain
making my bespectacled vision
bleary and more sordid
than could possibly be appropriate.
I did the right thing for everyone,
because it’s what I always do.
There is no shame in the truth
and so I gave it away.
It’s still true
even if I don’t hold it.


4. Fearless v. 11 - August 30, 2014

Post-proclamation, I estimate that
it would be efficient to embrace
facing this. But before I even speak
I've started to lie, because it’s improper
to claim I am even minutely able
to face this. Already my body
clenches, anxiety blossoms
like a fanged flower, its petals
fierce and beautiful and scarlet
like flushed skin. I am petrified.
As the leaves of the white birch
turn upward and wait for rain
so my sight ascends to prepare
to face this, as if I could
possibly know what’s coming.


5. The Choice - September 5, 2014

She said yes, all those many years ago.
She said it, not in so many words,
but enough to know she’d chosen.
But in the middle. There, that spot,
blackened and bruised from
careless words, thoughtlessness.
That’s the one held up in the mirror,
that’s the question echoing back.
If she had somehow known then
what she’d be looking at now
would she have chosen differently?


6. Paper - December 9, 2014 [This is one of my favorite poems ever!!!]

There are no sequins.
There is no splendor.
No lace, no ribbons,
just our sense of wonder.
This was the year
it was supposed to be all right.
We wouldn't suffer or struggle,
or give up the good fight.
We would find sparkle
in shadows and dust,
doing what’s pleasing
and not what we must.
But nothing glimmers
or outshines the heartache
of old pain in a place
we thought couldn't break.
There is nothing gold
to give worth to our blunder
except for this space
where we find ourselves tender.
Here we will make glitter
in the darkness and night.
We’ll take a year made of paper
and burn it for light.


7. Settled - April 18, 2015

There is a truth, settled into,
founded by the precedents
our life has handed over.
We believe it like a memory,
like a debt to be repaid
or a curse we wait to feel
unless we're lucky–
then it’s a dream we hope to know.
Like fools we believe and hold
the promises or evidence
until the world shifts around us;
every wall ascends or crumbles,
the ground disturbed and broken,
And in the tumult we must decide
to alter our perception,
to force our feet into new paths,
to stumble along new halls,
to adapt to a new truth
or close our eyes
and just go on believing.


8. Best - April 27, 2015

The blackest heart loves best
because it can't forget a thing,
because it holds, because it holds,
because it holds on and never lets go.
And that isn't charcoal
or an unrepentant life
or a curse, or a curse,
or a curse that cannot be cured.
Those are the colors of memories,
of regretting what's been lost,
of loving too, of loving too,
of loving too damn much.
And if you paint a pure heart
with a color for every breath
you'll have a heart, you'll have a heart,
you'll have a heart that's black that loves best.

NPM: Taking Hold, Etc. (Part 1)

"Loss" circa 2010.

This is going to be one of those long posts. So roll up your sleeves, or saddle your horses, or gird your loins, or whatever it is you do when you get ready for a thing.

It has been thirteen days since I last posted here, during this month when I long to post the most. (Look, a rhyme! No, that does not count as a poem.) This is one of those times I feel like an explanation is in order, especially since it relates to the whole pre-cancer adventure and some of you might want an update.

During the first twelve days of April I started my "therapy." This involved taking a pill at the same time every day (or every night, in my case.) The first three days I didn't realize it needed to be at the same time, didn't realize that I absolutely should not have waited any amount of time between those 24-hour doses, and upon realizing my mistake worried that I had messed up the whole process.

But I didn't mess it up. Five days later I woke up mid-morning and began to experience the beginning throes of (what I've decided to call) healing. I won't give you details, because you don't need them. However, it has been tumultuous. I have been anxious, relieved, awestruck and dumbfounded and to put it plainly... I've just been a mess. 

And so during a time I wanted to be writing, and sharing, and deeply connecting with people, I found myself rather isolated. I found myself feeling abandoned. This "healing" has been a profound joy that I cannot share with the world, and the experience has left my heart vulnerable. It's day 9 of this long process, and as I'm coming out of it I want to rejoin the world with all of my words. There's not much as far as an update, except that the drugs are working. Round 2 starts May 1st, so hopefully they'll continue working.

Also, yes... I will be sharing thirteen poems. Six here, and seven in the next post. I would be so honored if you read them and told me what you thought of them--or you can tell me how they made you feel, or what they reminded you of. Not everyone likes poetry, I understand that. But right now they are my way of connecting with you, with the world, with life... so don't be shy if you have thoughts you would like to share.

1. Take Hold - February 22, 2015

We clasp together our wounded hands
and wander out here like orphans.
We hide our pain in the shadows,
we are silent and ashamed.

But you take hold and heal us,
you take us in like a son and daughter.
You raise our faces to the sun,
and we are overjoyed to be redeemed.


2. Crash Test - January 5, 2015 [edited April 26, 2015]

Sometimes
I am magnetized
back into your orbit.
I am drawn to the darkness
you made a house inside,
where you forced me to live
without oxygen.
I breathed only you
and thought someday
if consumed
you would simply set me free.
But all this time
I've been my own
and still I am possessed.
Still a prisoner.
Always wondering,
was I an experiment?
Did you bend me
just to break me
when the pieces didn't fit?
You let me crash and burn
but blamed me for who I am,
and now would rage
against the world
for not accepting
your love or your plan.
You told me
it was my fault
like I made the prison.
But the truth is
the chain of sin
has always been
your decision.


3. Meshed - June 3, 2014

Long ago, when we adored other men,
when the world inside our souls
was meshed without our knowledge,
when the air hung so densely
we could swim in its summer breath,
awash on the shore like
stranded changelings from the ether,
we met. A friendship swapped
between white-washed bricks
and solidified under a cherry tree.
We foraged like mercenaries
without causes for combat,
hunted madly like wild sisters
abandoned by our brothers.
The sun shone so brightly
we could taste it. So we drank
of the cherry blossoms blooming
and the green grasses reaching
and the sweet, bright rays
of that summer we fell out of love.
Today we soaked in it once more,
looking back on the storm clouds
that covered our silver linings.
A blue butterfly grazed my hand,
drifted from me to you to the sky,
as if it might have known
that in just another heavy moment
we would come full circle and
float back into the heavens.


4. Nobody Else - June 12, 2014 [edited July 2014]

**Author's note: This was originally a non-rhyming poem, but through the process of mourning a lost friend it turned into a short song on the guitar. I am really bad at playing the guitar, but the lyrics/poem aren't awful. So there you go.

I returned to life once,
having been on the run,
like a vagabond
But I came back to you
with my broken shoes and my
broken song,
wearing colors
I could not forget.
And you loved me yet.
You said,
No one could wear those
colors like you.
No one colors the world
the way that you do, you do.
And I don't want
to say goodbye
or watch you ride the train
into the sky.
But even if you asked me to
I couldn't keep you here with me.
No, there is nothing I could do
to stop eternity.


5. Be Mine - December 28, 2014 [edited April 26, 2015]

On a holiday, overcome with rage
not at my own circumstances,
I held at arm’s length the obvious,
regarding those lost second chances.
And my chest filled up
like a thirstless cup
with all the stuff a heart can hold.
The world ran for cover
as it all brimmed over
and I felt suddenly cunning and bold.
And within the confines of my body
rushed the longing for only what’s right.
Senseless with energy and without reason,
something in me just wanted to fight.
So I will look for the battle
through blitheness and prattle,
I’ll break boundaries and cross lines.
Somewhere a war needs a warrior,
and I will make it mine.


6. Make Me - May 31, 2014

My heart is stillness, it is patient
with all things, bears all things, it is
merciful and not ambitious
it exudes tranquility and peace,
it offers grace to you
and to everything
but me.

I offer myself bargains
and deals I cannot keep.
I barter and trade my best,
hating the thing inside my chest,
awake inside the void
hearing that damning voice
that just won’t let me sleep.

But I want
what everyone wants.
I want what they have
despite their faults.
So make me pick me
first in line.
Make me allow me
a second try.
Make me graceful,
or merciful, not hateful.
Make me offer it up
like a reflex I can’t stop,
make me give
the right to live
without limitations
or sordid hesitations,
without seeing failure
to go with the plan here
in my responsibilities and
unsavory obligations
to the bitter thing which holds
my heart’s place.
Someone make me give myself
grace.

NPM: Six Whole Poems

I love weekends, but there is something peaceful about being alone in the classroom on Monday nights. The solitude and the open space is somehow calming. There was some sort of bustle last week, though I couldn't even tell you what I became busy with, except that it kept me from blogging (the horror). Yet in the previous six days, despite having missed writing/posting poems for each of them, my view counter increased by about 200. That phrase is probably meaningless to you, so I'll break it down: Over 10,100 people have viewed my blog. That's like 200 people just in the last week. 

And I wasn't even here.

No, I won't make it up to the world by writing a a gushing fountain of poems. But I will post six, because I owe six. That will have to be satisfactory. In any case, enjoy these. :)

1. Senbon - Written March 24, 2015

To blame myself

gives me more power than I deserve.

I bitterly hoped

for nothing but the worst but

never really asked for such fruition.

And when I said

those hurtful words to curse you

they were spoken from a desire

that I would merely be blessed too.

So I will not feel guilty

if you will not feel slighted

because I know the weight of loss

and no one

can carry it alone.

2. Under the moon. - Written January 18, 2015

Reaching for each other

under the moon or

in the sun

Hands chained to hearts

bring us both

to light

3. Femme - Written June 8, 2014

I send you out with diamonds for eyes,

I have made you a promise of gold.

You will nourish the hearts and minds of men

until all but your love has grown old.

4. The Worst - Written June 5, 2014

My favorite song asks me what I’m so afraid of. 

It asks me why I feel scared–because it knows

it’s just a feeling, and nothing more.

It asks me, what’s the worst that can happen?

And in those moments after I've prayed

like a wounded bird about to take flight

I ask myself those same three questions

to somehow gauge the distance

between the anxiety flooding my body

and the reality I must endure, regardless

of whatever the worst might be.

5. Sacred. - Written May 27, 2014, Revised April 13, 2015

I am not better than you.

I am stronger than I was,

I am wiser than I was,

older and better

than the person

I have been.

And so are you.

But if you unlearn the lessons

we learned separately,

and yet

in equal measures

of turmoil,

you will undo all

the damage I've repaired.

I promise,

and do not threaten,

to be better angrier,

to be better sadder,

to be better forsaken

than you were ever sacred.

6. Middleofthenightness - Written April 12, 2015

Like everyone else

I look back.

Some people see

a great loss

or mourn for

a great love

and wonder at

the great divide

which shelters us

from the people we were.

But I see a girl making

a great mistake

while she longs for

a great love

and fights against

the great divide,

but losing myself

is the only thing

I do not count as

a great regret.

NPM: Pour Out (Day 7)

A small update among the pages of poetry. We didn't get the job we were hoping for. My heart is broken in some ways, and at peace in others. There is a reason for everything, you know?




Pour Out - Written January 9, 2015, Revised April 7, 2015

In that breath which held
more solitary twilight
than every exhalation of
these twenty and six years,
I stilled at the precipice
of the parched desert,
my body merely flesh,
my heart merely stone.
And I would have perished:
this is documented truth.
But sincere sorrow expressed
by the simplest of minds
begged for me to stay
in all my colorful forms.
A request only for me,
reaching mournfully
to the pitches of the sand,
uprooted my soul
from the unloving earth.
As the horizon set ablaze
with scarlet curses
I poured out a song
of oceans and rivers,
I emptied myself
of the darkness and blues
which had been carried
for that very purpose.
The knowledge of that weight
was somehow not suffocating
but freeing, for no longer
was my heart an anchor
but a melody rising
on the desert wind.

NPM: In Every Measure (Day 6)

National Poetry Month, Day 6.

In Every Measure - April 6, 2015

I will make plans for a season of rain and
build a house, build a house, build a house.
I will find structure useless and vain and
burn it down, burn it down, burn it down.
I will sustain misguided hopes and
dig a hole, dig a hole, dig a hole.
I will replace memories never known and
fill the hole, fill the hole, fill the hole.
I will discover someone else's treasure and
hold it tight, hold it tight, hold it tight.
I will find loss in every measure and
give it up, give it up, give it up.