can i not bore into my temple
and remove the bitterest parts
of myself when they scream?

am i forced to witness their decaying
motions as they spoil and rot
every good thing I feel?

i say no, because i am worth more
than unspoken disdain, disgust,
unpleasantry.

fingertips to burdened lips,
I unsilence them and free the raindrop
words that ache to revive the good
behind the hurt.

paintbrush smattered in an ugly
hue of purely human creation,
no divinity in its intent, portrays
an image of a me that doesn't like me.

but it washes off in realization
that water is love is truth.
and that truth, beyond me
and in me, is good.

Take heed, the earth is unforgiving
and can be as potent, subtle,
as poison.
Each gift it has given, rejoice,
for it is unafraid
to take back what it rightfully owns.
Man may say that it controls
the Earth, its resources–
torrents–monumental, crashing–
beg to differ.
We offer our condolences
to an already deafened sky.
Promises to “do better next time.”
Our earth, the stern father
that it is, does not waver.
Instead, slick, clean window panes are beaten
by a downpour, and
asphalt with the thirst of its cracks
quenched are all that we receive.
Field upon field with more moisture
than it can bear.
Who were we not to revere this land,
we who apologize as beauty betrays.

My body is not the same as it was.
A most obvious statement with an
All too familiar accompanied disappointment in the truth of it.
It rings in my ear like a persistent alarm,
You. Look. Different.

It’s been a year since I had an infant pulled out of me from a tear in my belly, they pried me open then sewed me closed,
I’ve never shaken so much in my life
as when I was bringing it forth.
I look different now.

I reached out to touch her face but my quaking limbs scared me, I didn’t want her first touch to be by accident, I
looked upon her instead, and then I fed her.
I was so pale, she so red, like she took all of my
blood with her on the way out,
A weight lifted from me,
but not the one I wanted.

I have weight, still.
But I’m not carrying anyone inside me anymore,
besides the demon that stayed in her stead
and sprinkled dread and convulsion into
My abdomen. I see my belly, and I’m repulsed.

But remember, a gentle voice reminds me,
Do you remember what you have done?
From sunlight and water and time in the world
I have created a little girl.
And that creation still lies within me
even though she is without,
I am round with fertile ground,
I’m not fat, I’m full.
This mound on me is sacred and now used to hold life as she grows.

I look different now.
My body is not the same as it was.
It’s become tree and canopy to raise
And shade a life bigger than me. When
I birthed her, I became as old as the earth itself.
And the world is not excessive, but abundant, and
Isn’t that a most wonderful thing?

I brim and sing with possibility.
I overflow and flower.
I look different now.
My body is not the same as it was.

poetry is bloodletting
for my aching hands,
brain, heart, soul, whatever.
in maroon, I see a *****,
disconnected features, details,
themes, emotion.
all useless without the right vessel.
the pages may get stained
but the Rorschach means nothing
without rhythm and image and heat
and light.

I didn't realize that I had missed the rabbits so
til I nearly stumbled over one in the dark and dew

impossibly still and also bounding with movement, vibrating
a tenacious anxiety reflected back to me in more than one
lost, drunken, exasperated moment
memories inevitably left in backseats and waterlogged journals
the thorny irony of holding fervently what this life means to me
and for me
knowing I've forgotten nearly most of it
to trauma
and to time

why would I tuck away the times I've made myself the image of my parents?
why cherish and return to the slur of dysfunction and imbalance
why build myself on the moments I broke upon

each falter is palmed inside me
slick and pressed with dust
the life of every love and bond
I can't release
for fear that I will sink into the sky
for fear that I've only ever been a reflection
is it empathy? maybe it's a pervasive fear of abandonment
as you cannot leave me if you need me
as you cannot fear me if you trust me
as you cannot without me
and I, you

if I were a god, I’d—

be solved, frame finished, insides intact
like those of an engine running smoothly, carry
this heart as heaven, with legions of love
imbuing beloveds at the flutter
of my belly butter-

flies; these
dreams as dynasties,
ever-flourishing; these creatures titled
thoughts, staying steadfast and faithful
to the tenets of my temple,
unfolding their fortunes

—be all that I am suited for

but I am stifled spells locked within flesh,
rickety humanity,
an ocean tucked into a jar—roaring
and rising, with no moon to
chase, no clouds
to visit;

and so with sharpened dreams,
with the longing for an escape, I cut strings
from my vessel,
but end up with a severed self
and a reality in ruins

and so with a turgid heart,
with a heart that keeps swelling and
searching and spreading
into too many chests, I shatter
in seasons.

oh, but even a god would be jealous
of how I keep splitting
and bleeding with so much love
left to live for, with so many dreams
destined to die for—

much more godly it
is to triumph like a god
in human body.

as autumn plants her feet,
cities burst into smoke, shades
and silence, until I can only sit
& grieve as a ruby-dream fades

into the mist; tell me this is earth
breaking feasts to mark the birth
of our bond, tell me this remains
the season where hearts rain

like leaves as they, as we, fall
in love beneath golden trees
& we'll only need to loosen our all
to cling tighter than we please;

tell me that when the perils flee,
you'll return, arms open-- tell me.

the ninth shade
embraces mountain peaks
in the pure clarity of morning

frost clings to sagebrush
in the ascending sunlight
of the third-quarter moon

and as life pauses
to apprehend the spectacle
of a wintry summer morning

my bones feel
the transition of season
as autumn draws near