I'm part of a cult with no leader.
We take flight from unidentified runways.
King Kong is nothing but a chest beater;
climbing skyscrapers and swatting at planes.
I'm not afraid of the beast.
No, really though, we're quite good friends.
I've been invited to a giant feast,
but no one ever eats because the toast never ends.
Who put this guy in charge anyway?
I'm not okay with his facts.
I propose a mutiny.
Let's all cheers to that!

The red high chair,
Now empty there,
Has carbon foot-prints
On scuffed rails,
And impressions
On the tray.
Like digs from earlier days.

Her first steps were small,
Unsure, unstable,
Needing balance,
Yet proving able.
A two-step dance,
An infant's prance,
An infinite chance,
She tottered to the door,
Drawn and wanting more.

But I fell,
Forlorn,
With those wee steps,
She was gone.

HEART BEATING
                              TO A
                                      RESTLESS
                 ­                                       RHYTHM
THERE'S NOTHING
                                   LEFT FOR
                                                    ME HERE
                                                            ­  ANYMORE


IN THE FACE
                       OF MY
                                   PRESENCE,
                                                       I AM



                                                   absent.

There is something alluring
about the danger of falling in love-
handing over the most vunerable part of yourself,
your beating heart ,
and praying that they handle it with care.

He was not cold and callous,
But warm, quiet, and kind.
His breath smelled of lilies and he kissed me softly,
Until I fell asleep in his capable arms.
You may ask what it felt like to be touched by death,
But it was I who reached out, grasped his hand, and willed him to take me away.
Instead he smiled, kissed my forehead, and promised he'd return for me.

It was the year of "almost,"
                            "not quite,"
                            "try again."
It was the year I prayed, "God,
let me be enough" every day
I walked out
the door
with shattered confidence,
contusions for every name you spit,
punch you threw,
direction I was thrown.
It was the year I learned you don't need
water
to feel like
you're drowning.
It was the year I bruised and healed.
                          bruised and healed.
                          bruised and healed.
It was the year I doubted Your goodness.
It was the year I was finally liberated
after the realization that you
can't help people
escape their chains
until
you
break
your own.
It was the You reminded me:
"You already are,
You always were,
and You still have time to be."
It was the year I learned I could spite fire
if I wanted to.

2013
It was the year I did.