You say that you are the rock
And you dare not ask me
To be your eternal bearer up the mountain,
That you are a burden
Meant to be left behind.
You tell me you are the moss,
That you cannot be the cactus I once claimed,
And I should let you roll on
Alone.

But don't you know who you are?
Who we are?
You are more than rock,
You are stardust, realized.
We are the exploding, near-eternal fires that light the night
And paint the sky
We are constellations chasing head over tail
Around this globe
Always a horizon line out of reach.
You are the flames of summer,
Offspring to Prometheus,
The King of Wands,
Sacrificing your lungs in an ancient ritual
Of flames that bear your name.
We are born from fire
Our very strength forged in the pyre.

You are no succulent,
Though your heart may masquerade as one sometimes.
You are stealing after the sun,
The first sign of life in a rocky wasteland,
You come with the lichen,
And you cling to existence like a cliff edge.
Allowed to thrive,
You are soft and yielding,
Laying yourself down for the comfort of others.
Seemingly simple, but within,
You turn the very stone into life.

A curse and burden, you are not.
You are the rightful heir of fire
To stars that sing your name.
You may seem to drown in the wasteland,
Surrounded by endless void
But, love, don't you know what those lungs can do?
Breathing life into stone,
Come alive.

Someday, maybe at 35 (or 25),
You may no longer need Sisyphus.
What then?

My love for you
Cannot be contained
By ten words

He was more frail than even I,
Thought I might break him
If I held him too tightly
And there was a gentleness to his touch,
Not marking my skin like newfound territory
Only invisible ink of sweat and saliva
To mark the path we chose
Tucked away now like a treasure map

He is the swatch of new paint on the wall
If I look at it hard enough,
The old color falls to give way
And my imagination can rest here
A reprieve from grief
A newly claimed corner of my mind
Safe from memories of love and pain

It doesn't fix anything
But it makes this easier
And that
Is enough for me

I keep tripping on brambles
Scratching my exposed shins,
Ripping at my shoelaces,
Yet somehow I keep upright.
Leaving my well-beaten path behind,
I had forgotten how difficult
Striking out anew always is.

I know I cannot return to the
Comfortable, clear, circular, cyclical path
I'd been wearing down for years.
Looking behind me,
I'm not sure I could even find the way back.
A path that lead only to itself,
But ****, how I miss those views.

My ribs clench at the memories
The smells, the warmth, the ease
But it grew crowded,
No longer a private reverie
No.
I mourn the loss of sacred space.

I keep stumbling, tripping, fumbling forward
Brought back again to this moment.
It's time to cover new ground,
Whether I want to or not.

I know it in my toes,
Can feel the certainty like the gravity in my feet,
She is my replacement
The times we spoke of her character
All lip service to calm me

I know you're lonely,
And looking for a friend.
Watch your back with this one though,
I can feel the wrongness from my carefully kept distance,
Feel it in my toes!
And the toes know.
Be careful with who you trust
Be even more cautious with who you let in.

He told me
When we stumbled to the end of our path
And parted ways
That he would have written for me
Had I asked
And while I reject the concept
Of having to ask for forced dedications,
I still wonder
What he would have written.

I never should have let it go
That far
Even now, I can still feel
The aftershocks of your choices.