She is a sweeper
She swept everything
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

Old magazines
books
newspapers
Old photographs
records
love letters.

She swept them all
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

One day
It turned into a hill.
All the things she swept
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room
turned into a hill.

But she didn't mind.
She kept sweeping
old friendships
romantic relationships
truth
lies
feelings
regrets
mistakes
apologies
forg­iveness
into the hill
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room.

The next day
The hill turned into a mountain
She didn't mind
And kept sweeping
Until it exploded

Broken hardwood floor
Burnt brown fuzzy rug
Everything scattered
In her living room.

She stood there
In the middle of the aftermath
Thinking
“Do i throw these all away?"

But she's a sweeper.
So she cleaned the mess
Swept everything back again
Under a new brown fuzzy rug
Laying on her basement floor.

We tiptoe into the unknown
figuring out where to go
where our legs will take us
we walk slowly into the woods
we hike up to the hills the mountains
we walk briskly right by the ocean the sea
we cross rivers streams
we jump off a cliff a waterfall
we jump over boulders puddles holes and cracks
we run
we run swiftly to
where the roads meet
where the concrete ends
where the dirt begins
we run down the path without a path
we run into the horizon where the sun rises and sets
we run
we hold hands
we walk
we slow down
we stop
we stand there
we find
that place
that moment
it is where we're supposed to be
you
me
us.
Our rugged soles.

If feelings can be held, then I dare you to hold mine.
I dare you to catch it with your bare hands.
I dare you to hold it tight.
I dare you to put it in your pocket.
I dare you to wear it on your sleeve.

If feelings can be heard, then I dare you to hear mine.
I dare you to catch its every whisper.
I dare you to hear its screams, its laughter, its sighs.
I dare you to hear its cries.
I dare you to hear it echo through your ears.
I dare you to listen to its pleading.

If feelings can be seen, then I dare you to see mine.
I dare you to look it in the eyes.
I dare you to stare at its wholeness.
I dare you to witness its unfolding.
I dare you to marvel at its being.
I dare you not to blink as it looks at you back.
I dare you to let it see beneath your soul.
I dare you to see its light.

And if these feelings can be felt, I dare you to feel mine.
I dare you to snuggle its warmth.
I dare you to shiver at its coldness.
I dare you to feel its corners, its edges, its curves.
I dare you to feel its beating.
I dare you to feel its breathing.
I dare you to feel it.
I dare you to feel its feelings.

I dare you to feel it.
I dare you to feel.
I dare you.