bleached
beneath
a 10 kilowatt
moon
anticipating
geometry
the smell
of soap
that same
instant
calling into
question
bisexuality
without flesh
or
the vibration
of blood

White linen,
needle sewn.
Worn denim,
fades too soon.
Horse venom,
evil rune.
Hard water,
silver spoon.
Dead daughter,
red balloon.

r ~ 5/6/14

We are all strays
Searching for a home
In the secret places
Of each other.

Divine Prescnce, thank you for the gift of today.
My weary eyes see how much each moment is
filled with grace.  I am grateful that my friends
help me see how I have been holding onto fears
and resentments, to the point that life felt like
a burden.

I offer up myself to You.  Help me to be useful to You
and those that are still suffering.  Thank you for taking
away my fears and helping me see my part in the resentments
I held.  

I feel lighter and little more free today, so I offer this poem
of praise and gratitude.  Thank you for helping me glimpse
the reality of each moment being as a free gift offered out of love.  May I share this precious gift with others.  Amen.

I wonder if you’d want to know
I named all of my demons after you and
they haunt me in my sleep

when I was 14 I fell asleep in April and dreamed of bones and
I’m not sure I’ve really ever woken up since

when I lost 5 pounds I never saw a difference

when I lost 10 my mother said I was looking good

when I lost 20 she told me to stop and handed me food
and I became anemic

when I lost 25 I stopped drinking anything because
I felt water had calories

when I lost 30 my mother held me on her lap
and held my bones together for me

when I lost 35 I started fainting every morning and
the doctors could no longer easily find my blood pressure

when I lost 40 people started to stare and food made me cry

when I lost 45 it hurt to walk and to lay down
it hurt to eat
it hurt to breathe and
I started throwing up my empty stomach

the mind plays tricks on those that decide
nourishment is not needed

Eat.

When you see her cry
     you get a rag,
a gentle delicate cloth.
                                        Lovingly grasp her hand
                                               and dab its tip;
                                       dry each tear as they come.
                                                           ­                               And ask each drop
                                                            ­                                   why it'd leave
                                                           ­                               such beautiful eyes.

  If she wishes
to be in the sky,
  tell her to go.
                              Take the sun ransom,
                              and replace its shining
                                    with her own.
                                                            ­          So you can see her every morning
                                                         ­                          and wish for her
                                                                ­                  return each night.

When you see her scars
  both visible and non-
    touch each gently.
                                             And remind her
                                       that each and every hurt
                                            she has survived,
                                                       ­                                 has only made her
                                                                ­                   that much more unique;
                                                         ­                              that much stronger.

  Show her that she
  is a special person
and is worthy of love.
                                     That she deserves the love
                                            she fears to give...
                                            show her so that
                                                            ­                     one day after you're gone
                                                            ­                      she can find the strength
                                                                ­                    to go on without you.

    Tell her that while
she might not be a goddess
far above worldly desires,
                                          that she is amazing,
                                         for just being herself
                                    for being that beautiful girl
                                                            ­                   who thinks herself damaged
                                                         ­                         when in truth she's just
                                                            ­                    a different kind of beautiful.

   And finally, love her.
  Like a boy loves a girl
Till she finally remembers
                                            that that's what she is:
                                          not a scar, not a goddess,
                                             not a star. But a girl.
                                                           ­                         That deserves to be loved.

Poet, be not afraid.
There are far worse things than
Bad poetry.

Keep writing; like a child keeps
Drawing with the purest of
Disregards to likeness.

The more stones you turn, the more
Gems you produce.

The more ink you rain,
The more gracious your written
Children grow.

All flexing builds muscle.

Rough bricks form castles.

Even Dalì carved canvases to shreds
And started anew
Not caring too much.
Not caring

Too much
To keep painting.

Born of light and dark intentions
knowing not, the joy of acceptance
isolation, so serene
creator vows not to intervene
exploring life like a child
hatred bound, exceptionally wild
mangled face, open heart
hateful reception
admiring from afar
leap of courage, joy, and hope
poor reception and insults thrown
beaten down, running away
scarred for life, forever dismay
burn the home and torch the past
anger fueled and running fast
rush of water, painful current
savior of child, warrior wounded
bleeding limbs and broken hearts
yearning for a way to restart
seeking brethren in the woods
wretched intentions, misunderstood
purple marks about the neck
brother of victor, lying dead.
satisfaction, newfound goals
blame is placed, creation abhorred
seeking out thine detested creator
tormenting threats, intellectual banter
ultimatum, stories told
“create another by my mold”
creature of spite and dark intentions
never to know the joy of acceptance.