The masterful stroke of an artist’s hands
Comes from broken fingers and cut wrists
Hands that have been dragged through hell
And rested in heaven,
That creates real mastery.

Let your feet direct you to the streams of life,
And your eyes lead you to see the light.
May your hands give of the fruit
Those your heart beats with compassion for,
May your ears hear the choir of angels
To soothe your mind,
To cleanse the weight
You carry in your bones.

The absence of one
Tells of the presence of the other.
The hollow teaches you gratitude for the fill,
The excess teaches you the necessity of emptiness.
One cannot exist exclusively,
For all of eternity,
There must always be a season for reaping and sowing,
For rain and shine,
For togetherness and distance,
Lest we forget the importance of their union.

I have seen the miracle of life,
There is nothing one can do to make me
Stop believing in Love.

What is the deal with boundaries
When it comes to the things we love,
Why is it inexhaustible and all-consuming-
how do we make it stop?

I am no longer running away
from what I said.
They know and I know
I am smart,
so never again will I lie saying,
"I don't know."
But God give me the strength to say,
"Yes.
No.
Out of respect for my privacy,
I do not wish for you to know."
-shevaun stonem

He still looks at me
Like I'm his Meredith. Make
of it what you want.