When I’m sober I’m
so good,
so high on myself.
I talk to my friends and
I love that they love me
just the way I am.
But right now I’m drunk
and I’m falling in love
with all my exes,
all the people who are
poisonous.
I need validation
so I text boys who
I know will get off
on my words, on the
pictures I send them.
I have a whole list of their numbers
for nights like these.
I don’t even know
if they’d recognize me
in the morning.
I don’t even recognize myself
as I delete messages,
words, feelings.
No one will ever know
all the things I crave
if they don’t know me
sober.

Gently, she goes
as soft as a fawn
opens the window
and waits for the dawn
fireflies glow
wind caresses her face
as she sheds all the shadows
not leaving a trace
She dons velvet darkness
wrapped in its cloak
releases all poisons,
                 sylphlike,
             in smoke
She is preparing for battle
in her own, quiet way
She only wants wholeness
as she breaks through the gray
For soon she will weave
prismatic wonders of spells
her own inner aurora
lighting heaven from hell
For suffered she has
and it's time to forgive
unlock self-made prisons
and let herself live
and now as sunrise approaches
stars still in sight
she turns the skeleton key
and glides
into
             flight

It's not as if
It was the end of the world
Or like I didnt pull through
And survive that moment
It's just that
My entire world changed
And the parts of me that I loved
Didn't make it out alive

After 25, you wrote,
life is not worth living.
The parties are over,

and all that is to be
done is done, or has
been done. The men

worth having, you have
had, and that done in
great number, not

wanting anything
to be left out. You
remember that first

one, the first to take
you into the bed, and
do whatever it is that

seems worth doing.
The *****, the drugs,
the music, the ***, the

whole pitiful lie of
evolution ****** in
then spat out. Books

read and re-read, and
poets listened to, and
writers with their side

of the truth not yours.  
You have written all
that is worth writing.

Have put away your
pens and modern writing
machines. You have

written all your goodbyes
and sent them off. Just
the way out now, you

muse, the way out
and down that dark
corridor to non-being

or maybe that one bright
light that you are seeing.

I have a tendency to
rely on magical thinking
To transcend
harsh realities

I must admit
I dream too much

I dream of spectacular wildflowers,
and loving with my whole heart
I dream of dancing on a full moon,
and embracing the unknown

I dream of both the impossible and
the possible
But to pursue the possible,
I would have to abandon my comfort zone

I am convinced
That if I were to live with integrity
And follow God's call
I would heal
And produce the fruits of God's Spirit

That will require
Turning away from distractions and sin,
To turn toward
A renewed life
Being reborn
And transformed
Into a new person

The question is:
Am I willing
To let go of this identity of mine
That I hold onto so tightly
But will be my demise?
Will I let go
To open myself up to
The reform God has for me?
Am I willing to trust?
Am I willing to let go and
Hand my life entirely over to God?