"God is my strength"
were the first words spoken
when we saw your small body
lying still, broken.

"God is my strength"
was braided in the prayer
that your Nana spoke over you,
even though you weren't there.

"God is my strength"
was my loudest heart cry
when the doctor came in
and didn't speak, but sighed.

"God is my strength"
said Jon's hand on my hair
"God is our strength"
his eyes spoke through the air.

"God is my strength"
our eyes locked in to say
while we slept and we cried
countless hours away.

"God is my strength"
as the pain grew stronger,
"God is my strength"
as the night grew longer.

"God is my strength"
as I wept through my prayers
"God is my strength"
although this feels unfair.

"God is my strength"
in the silence that followed
"God is my strength"
my womb and arms, hollow.

"God is my strength"
when the nurse held you first.
"God is my strength"
when the silence was burst.

"God is my strength"
I've never seen this before.
"God is my strength"
I can't take anymore.

"God is my strength"
tiny son in my hands
"God is my strength"
For I know the plans...

"God is my strength"
that day and still.
He holds my baby
as part of His Will.

"God is my strength"
and I know it's best
for Gabriel to be there
where he is best blessed.

they're warmer,
slower somehow,
these
tears of grief

they warm my eyes
like i'm
filling a bath
and sinking down
in too low
to breathe
but not quite
so low to drown

they're warmer
sure
but softer?
not quite.

they ***** down
slowly at first
and then
they chase each
other about
halfway down
because
it seems they're
in a hurry
to leave behind
the ache they
bring
the sting
they
sting

they pool out
they run down
and they leave
me behind
dried out
and empty
with no chance
to escape
into the air
and change
into something
new
the same way
that they
do

A path once used
Beaten and abused-
Come travel with us
Down this path of trust.
Every step's a milestone but
Failure comes when you're alone.
Going, going, going, gone
Home disappears with the dawn.
Imagine a world you can make your own!
Just drop the seed and see what's sown!
Keep on going, don't let go-
Live, love, laugh - never say no.
Meet me in the middle, we'll get there fast
Never try to rush, though, let everything last.
Open your eyes, broaden your mind;
Prepare yourself, don't get left behind.
Quiet! Do you hear that sound?
Roots taking hold in the ground.
Stay on your feet - don't let them hold you down.
Take three steps forward, no steps back
Until you reach your goal, no looking back.
Vulnerability is best to deepen your experience.
Wherever you go, collect the deepest sentiments.
Xerox copies won't work for this,
You must ensure utmost pureness.
Zephyrs guide you, zeniths guard you; don't lose faith,
         your heart will guide you.

I guess you could say
it's kind of the way
that your beard is uneven
and your body is pleasin'

I guess you could say
it's the games that we play
when we're both lacking sleep and
we laugh 'til we're screamin'

I guess you could say
it's kind of the way
you drum 'til I'm keepin'
the rhythm you're beatin'

I guess you could say
it's the way that you lay
as I watch when you're sleepin'
and snorin' and dreamin'

I guess you could say
it's every single day
we can't help but cravin'
this love that we're made in

Aggravating, but without intention
Because
Insecurities are my mind's
Greatest invention.
Alluded to harshly
In regard to "pretention."
L**onely but loved, despite the contention.

I thought I knew forgiveness
   but then I saw it through your eyes
      the gentleness there when you see me mess up
      the patience in your smile when I'm confused...
You watch me explore, get lost, see it all.
I love that you don't catch me when I fall.

When your voice drops down low
   like the heat before a storm
      your words still lift me, embrace, encourage-
      I see your secret smile when I pull myself up.
It's in your voice as it crescendos back up
   like the crinkles in the corners of your eyes.

You let me walk, run, fly, see, grow tall...
*I love that you don't catch me when I fall

Flushed and warm.
The kind of breathless you get when a
   butterfly from your belly flutters
      onto your heart.

And then it starts -
A little squeeze on your heart,
   a bigger tug on your smile.
The sprinkles in your laughter harmonize
   with the beat of his heart.

He breathes through your whispers
   which creak the bed though you try
      not to wake him.
But he smiles anyway -
   you can hear it through the dark.

as foreign to me as
the ocean is deep
(i stay at the shore)

as strange to me as
black coffee
(too bitter for an
already bitter soul)

as enticing to me as
a sunrise
(new
  bright
    bold
      exposing)

as terrifying as
a fluttering moth
(and just as
irrational?)

a concept so strange
to a twisty sad heart
that you may as well
skip me
and enjoy
my part.

The things left unsaid
are usually more hurtful
than things left
unthought
(Ask me how I know).

It's the things left unsaid
that eat into the light
of your usually
big heart
(Ask me how that feels).

It's the things (I) left unsaid
that leave you (who says them)
in a quiet little space
(unaware)
that I'm not as good
as you're trying to convince
everyone that I'm not.

Everyone talks about how beautiful it is
to be shining with life, to have a slight glow
to be walking with joy, just starting to show.

Friends will all smile and will all want to know
(just like your family) the date and the gender;
If it's a girl, your beauty you'll lend her
but if it's a boy your body will surrender.

They all have a story, a fun little tale
but none have the cure for
the all-day-long hell.

But here's the first secret
I have learned on my own:

I love this sweet baby despite how it's grown.

On the days that I can't
even roll over in bed without
an internal sigh so deep
it would rival the heave of
the shuddering earth
and you ask me why
dinner is still cooking and
the drier is fluffing and
the dishes are crusting
and the dust is still lying
and my lashes are bare
and my hair is unkempt
as the sheets on the bed...
On these days when
I go to work anyway
before you wake up and
I get home after you
(you're sleeping on the couch)
and pick up after you
and serve myself after you
and you still think to ask
about the undone things that
your eyes see so well...
On these days with
these questions and that
look in your eyes
it's all I can do
to set my jaw,
smile,
and say:
"I just haven't..."

There's something that just
takes your breath
when someone else's words
so closely echo
the sentiments
of your own heart.

Two poets connected through
black and white words
all because my mind
can read your soul's words
in my own heart's voice.

All because your soul
writes the language
that my heart
has so carefully learned.

All because two people
wrote in love.

It's a sad day every year
when Mothers' Day arrives
and I know I have to call you
when we both would rather die
than spend five minutes talking
and mhmm-ing and remarking
about the weather and your boys
and the home I don't belong in.

It's like Rupi Kaur says,
"You should have known."
You should have seen me
as a candle,
you should have felt
me as a flame.
You should have never
tried to hold me,
should have never
changed my name.
I was never merely embers,
I was always made
for pain.

He sees me as a candle
soft and light and
smelling sweet.
Or he sees me as
a wild fire and he
marvels at my heat.
He's the wind and so
he tests me
and I
burn out or I rage.
He's the wind and so
I need him,
to clear away the haze.

He can quench the
flicking candle,
he can feed the
blazing flare.
He can touch me
without burning -
I can't breathe without
his air.

I suppose there is
a thunderstorm
brewing up outside.
I suppose it rivals
the lightening storm
you're holding deep inside.

I suppose there is
someway that I
am surely to be blamed.
I suppose you could link
either storm
right back to my name.

I suppose that some might
jump or fret when they hear
the thunder roll...
I suppose that might
cause me to fear if not
for the CRACK
of your soul.

The cinnamon smells
better than it tastes, although
so do you, my love.

I chose to be porcelain.
   (It's pretty.)
People hold you up to look all around.
   (Oh! How pretty!)
You don't get to choose it but
your design will be stunning.
Good enough to pull their eyes
from the inside your craftsman forgot.
Someone else's half-finished thoughts
marking you forever.

I chose him, too.
   (You're pretty.)
Entranced, lost in my designs,
he poured in me a rich, sweet cream.
The richest half and half
pretending to make me whole.

It feels like being empty
but
you're filled with all the wrong things.
They hurt you,
but
you like them after a while.
They don't fit you
but
you fill them out.

An old outfit. Comfortable. Worn in.
To change is exposure to more of the same
Which
You secretly crave.

To pull on that old self
and disappear
behind the layers.
So complex you don't recognize yourself
when you're outside.

You can't let yourself heal -
Fresh air stings the burns.
When you breathe it in it hisses,
     chills your teeth
Relief.
For just a moment
A new hurt.

Forward steps are measured in inches-
Every foot an insurmountable goal.
You drag yourself along
Every effort bringing new pain.

A backward step is a mile.
And it doesn't even hurt. Actually,
It's like a hit during rehab
And it feels just right.

But then you breathe it back out.
Too late - the buzz in your veins.
You know you shouldn't have...
But it feels. so. good.

Your vision clears
You hate yourself.
Your bruises haven't healed
from last time
And
Here you are.

Starting over.
      Inch
             by
                 *inch.