This is the truth:

I was garbage within garbage at the bottom of the sea.
Filth - drowned - as it is meant to be.
But He brought me up and cleaned me off.
I tasted the sun and knew: it was love.

The day is long and hard.
And I barely slip through it alive.
I call to my Lord but he does not answer.
And I am left wondering why.
With tears in my eyes, I write this now,
Wondering still when I can come home.
Forgive me, God, I cannot lie;
I do not trust The Great Unknown.

My salty tears, they stain my skin
With sadness that has passed and been
And nothing more can make me cry
Than asking why I shouldn't die.

"These are not troubles for your kind,"
Says the angel in my mind.
"And peace will come
In due time."

It is a non-negotiation
to lose inspiration
when you get on medication.

I am my dog
laying at the top step of the staircase,
snout curled around and nestled into his hind legs.
I shuffle and he blinks at me while I whisper,
"I am You."

I am the photograph of myself on the wall:
Tousled, wiry black hair like snakes
sprouts atop a pale-white face
withholding bitter secrets and the poison
of anger behind envy-green eyes.

I am a bouncy little girl and a rigid old woman.
I feel my tongue beginning to dry with age
like a once-crisp and juicy grape.

And yet I am also energized to my toes
and throughout the entire state of Ohio.
I am bursting at the seams and barely keeping hold
of what my itching hands can if they don't
ruin the dainty thing of Life before reaching
for another even more precious thing, like Love.

And I am Love, too.
I love and am loved and am to be loved furthermore,
like a dog or a photo or a girl whose tongue is sore.
It is Love that I am
and Love that I will onto you.