I’ll be your rebellion.
I’ll hold my tongue
and bite your lip.
I’ll lie to your eyes
‘cause they’re
begging
me to.

I’ll dance madly
to hide the truths of the day
tell lazy jokes
just to pass the time.

But when I’m gone
and the silence abounds,
shut your ears and
let me resonate
in you.

You could be my rebellion too.

You’ve always been a midnight saboteur.
From dawn til dusk,
your convictions convince you
but in the honest darkness,
can you be sure?

Your mouth is tangled
by the tales you tell yourself,
cinched tightly--your lips are purse strings.
Since I’ve no confidence with a sword,
will your Gordian knots triumph again?

Too often, you’re enthralled
by the charm of your attic lies,
But tonight,
you’ve finally pulled apart the bad.
Turn on the light and see you’re good.

We breathe yes
into every no
because it's easier that way.
That whispered affirmation
That sighing hope
is the pebble that shakes
from the cuff
of your pants and rolls
unnoticed
to the pond
where its invisibility is
compromised.

It becomes something beating
heaving
causing.
What erupts from it
concentrically
is no natural event
no miraculous happenstance
but the direct effect
of our willful breaths
proclaiming fervently
yes.

No matter how
you hold me, my forehead
always
seems to meet your
heartbeat—as if to reassure me
that you’re still there.
As if every part of us is
alive and desperate
to communicate it
with our gently shattering
bodies.

We’re breaking
but not broken.
Haunted, but not ourselves
ghosts.
The ridges of your thumbs
exorcise me
and I escape
the insanity
of my gossamer
thoughts.