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whispering wind Dec 2020
you live in the back of my mind, under my skin whether you like it or not. you left a lasting impression on me and many, many others.

could i be as well loved as you? as celebrated and cherished as you?
im not sure if i can hold the space for you much longer, but i wish that you would guarantee that it was where you rightfully belonged

you could belong to me, if you wanted so

tell me what you feel and let the rest fall into place. until we can find that closure, reveal the truth to me and you, i will feel like there is an empty hole shaped like you.

i want to hold you so close that we become one
touch the tenderest fragment of the memory of us
and remind me why i have held on for so, so long

is it the clarity that i see in your eyes? the stories we have shared about our families, and our pasts. what is it about us that makes me not able to remove you from my mind?

i would ctrl + alt + delete you if i could, but there is a spot in my bed, and in my head, where you reside, so peacefully, so lovingly.

it's where you say I love you. where you got on one knee and where i said, "I do." Fiction and fantasy, my love sign, my destiny. Can it be, the spot where we can be ourselves, away from expectations, and closer to best friends, to the listening that led to my - strange and everlasting fondness for your memory.

Hold me please and never let go. You fly above, and I walk below. Perhaps our pace is mismatched, therefore I must journey on in hope that you will be waiting at my destination. Just for me.
whispering wind Nov 2020
I -

I am burying the hatchet in my mind, taking the hate in my heart and wrapping the wound tight. The pain is carefully placed in a cedar box where it is accompanied by crystals and incense.

I will put our pain in there and plant it into the earth to heal.It may take years or decades, but the seeds of our pain will become the roots and leaves of a new life. Let the sun fill each cell, photosynthesize our exhales into our next breath.

Let them grow into a forest of love.
Let them turn into a habitat or an ecosystem
Let our wounds heal with time and time alone

- II -

Soft skin of cocoa and shea butter, not a blemish nor battle scar
Smoothed over like pebbles in the sand, the broken shards of glass become jewels among the sediment and shells.

Waves come and they go.

The darkest wounds become soft and unnoticeable
I pray for the day when our pain could feed a hundred people

I yearn for laughs and hugs and kisses from those who we led astray
But for now we sit on the porch, just us, and light up for ourselves.
The smoke fills our lungs briefly anticipated by our exhale. The ash drops to the ground or swept by the wind, caressing our days away.

Waiting for our love to shine anew
One day our love will be brand new

- III -

Someday soon, maybe. Hopefully it's not too far away.

Refusal of tragedy
Wishing for levity
The weight of gravity
And the merry break of morning
Dew drops on springtime buds
we could be the brush and the forest
Bristle and ***, laughter and tears
Pain and ecstasy coincide the swirling cavity of my mind
Dreams show alternate planes, could this be real; simple and plain.

- IV -

A shooting star darts across the night sky
We all make separate wishes in our minds
We all have our own peace of mind
healing a wound too massive for one person to make a change
whispering wind Oct 2020
The cold winter afternoon

Born in daylight during the darkest season,  the child debuts themself to a room of a strangers and familiar loved ones who they knew but didn't know.

Born to a cycle of pain and restrictions — they will know their story like the lines in their hand.

A young mother and father with an older brother. Grandmas and grandpas all look to them. They signal the hope of our family tree. That they are a healthy baby, newborn and free.

Held by warm hands and wistful sighs, the anticipation broke like the amniotic sack. Fresh and innocent, they are the perfect vessel to hold our family story.


Mother, mother's mother.

Grandmother: the wisest and most shining example of care for others. Irish woman of tough skin and heart of gold. The rainbow surely ends at her chest. Child learns love from mother — to stick together and find trust in one another.

The stubborn stain on a white sweater.

Scrubbing no longer brings the fabric clean. Holding onto the stories of our foremothers — I remember her face, her breath, her love.

Gone too soon, but never forgotten. She grew up too fast to fill the space of her mother's care. Her sister too.

Such a pity how time has changed us so thoroughly.
whispering wind Oct 2019
walking through fire
hunger for knowledge
quest of curiosity

defining defiance,
endless comparisons,
I am good enough.

a meditation on fame
thoughtful respite

it's the quiet melodrama of power and abuse
or the destruction & demolition of personal boundaries

to exceed oneself and climb to the tallest mountain —
shout and scream the words of great fear.

leap from the peak and tumble down into crisp, white snow.
the sharp rocks serve me, brushing my skin like polished armor.

I draw my sword and fight 'till my dying breath.
whispering wind Sep 2019
intrusive and violent thoughts permeate my subconscious mind. and i don't mind for the most part because self infliction will not start.

the thoughts sit and brews and stews — triggered by jealousy and self sabotage. when will my time come, when will i walk instead of run?

a cool breeze on a mountain top, i snap pictures of ruins and admire the past i never knew. what's old becomes new and what i knew becomes old.

the curtains unfold, opening the stage for an audience to view, no recording or flash photography while the performance is in process.

maybe someday i'll free myself from my own sabotage and jealousy. maybe someday there will be more freedom to be me and less time to worry about you.
whispering wind Sep 2019
days and nights of celebration
joyous, raucous, confrontation.
we bring forth the best of times
our lives filled with uphill climbs.

patience, breath, and listening to
things in life that come through-
and waiting, just waiting for it
to just feel right, the words
hanging off your lips

you know the ones
in between the sips
and careless whispers
and long glances.

just look into my eyes
and maybe stay a while.
whispering wind Aug 2019
a routine that is getting old
when will my shell break from this mold
perhaps ill wear something bright and bold

perhaps my actions will come back to haunt
proving that i was the one who was wrong

maybe i should turn back…
maybe i should sing a song

sitting here, oh so clear,
the message and the path are near—
the work still to be done, will it take very long?

i walk on as i sing my song
the one you taught me in a dream
where we broke apart from the seams
from who we were- into the people
we were meant to be, you and me,

now it's just me, fending for myself
we grow without guidance,

no one knows the right or wrong way
and it scares me that ive lingered around

home and comfort,

maybe i shouldnt stay
maybe i should just-

get out of my own way
when your life is unclear write a poem and shed a tear
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