I've loved many boys
With different colored eyes
But the way I remember them is
By the shape of their hands

The way their thumbs curved
Or how their palms felt against my own
The weight of them on my thighs
Or how they ran through my hair

The times they zipped up my dress
And settled on my shoulders
The moments when they grazed my own
As they handed me my keys

The motion of them as they spoke
And the motionless of them when they were silent
The smoothness of them in the beginning
And the calluses after time had passed

Sometimes, I forget the faces of these boys
Or the way their voice sounded over the phone
But I'll never forget the way it felt
With their hands intertwined in my own

in order for me
to get better it seems
that being broken
is the only way to learn
how to heal

Someday soon,
under a new sun,
We will sing a bird's song of white and gold hues.
Of beaming light.
Of warmth encompassing all that we love.
And it will be magnificent.

When a pop star dies people want to know who to blame
When a homeless person dies they are labelled insane

You should see the visions my heart paints for my mind….

where communal landscapes reside
and people hold space for them;

where leadership is local and not overseeing,
and it trusts the people
as the people trust it,
because it is the people
and we trust ourselves;

where the
harmful habit
of
waging war
is viewed as
wasteful,
so it is disposed of through
sustainable solutions
and we recycle the lessons it
surrenders;

where signals for support from those of us who are hurt
which serve as clues for others to offer their help
do not become fragments of evidence
that are used to convict unhealed wounds
which we convince ourselves to have been
eternally doomed;

where we see each other as mirrors
because all we do is reflect
glows and shadows;

where we remain retaining the significance in
treating one another through ways which restore
awareness,
understanding,
and forgiveness,
because how else will we break free from these
seemingly ceaseless cycles of suffering?

Dreams require just one to be fulfilled,
but imagine if
every
met
one,
the illuminating idea(l)s that could be instilled

Can you see the visions my heart paints for my mind through my eyes?

The heart gives its eyes to the mind like a selfless ***** donor,
but it doesn’t lose its sight despite its blind faith
because it steadfastly reminds itself of the gift it has been bestowed:

to embody the winds of change,
no matter the conditions