We’ve been walking on this journey for years now, and I’ve held your hand long enough to know that when I slip into quicksand or miss a step, it is not you who lets go. Your fingers aren’t the ones coated in doubt or in selfishness, gripping firmly only when it feels right, when it feels necessary. Your hands are not made of brittle bone, shivering and breaking when the cold starts to show. Teach me to never let go.

We’ve known plenty of good weather. Safe landings. Skies full of stars and days of endless wind. Scraped knees were never a problem, we always seemed to be in fields of yellow and green, surrounded by miles and miles of running streams. There were times when I would purposefully stumble, thinking that it would be okay, I’d land elbows first in the faces of dandelions anyway. Other times I’d stray, not because of greener grass, but because I was too caught up smelling that single flower to see that you were calling me to the next meadow, where petals of a sweeter smell and prettier colors stretch out like a seascape. Teach me to give up my little treasures and desires, for yours are far better.

Sometimes I get a little adventurous. I tell you I want mountains. I tell you I want to climb, that I want the strain and the adrenaline rush, the thrill of letting pieces of hardened sand and pebble carry my whole weight, the challenge, the sweat, the blood. I tell you I want to see things from the eyes of God. I tell you I want to struggle and overcome. I tell you I want the soul of a deer, to plant my feet firmly on the narrow heights, I tell you I’m alright but when I’m actually in the process of the climb, in the process of the waiting, wondering which rock do I grasp next, which path do I trust with my steps, I tell you I’m not ready for mountains after all. But you did not bring me here to watch me fall, so teach me. Teach me to keep my ankles strong, and my hold on you stronger.

And when we tire of mountains, you take me to oceans. You know how much I love the saltwater mysteries, how my heart sings when I get to feel clumps of wet sand beneath the soles of my feet. And you know how much I don’t know about the waters, you know that it’s hard for me to tell when an undercurrent comes sweeping like thousands of tiny *****, that I can’t spot the difference between high tide and low tide until the waves are lapping at my door, that I still swim after jellyfish no matter how many times I’ve been stung, and how I forget that not every beautiful thing has beautiful intentions, and especially how oceans also terrify the breath out of me. One of my deepest fears is to die drowning, but still you row us out in a weathered boat into the middle of the sea, no life vests or whistles, nothing. We’ve had calm waters and dolphin mornings, we’ve had rough rowing and storms brewing, and each time you managed to put the thundering and rumbling in my chest to rest, and each and every time you’ve gotten us back to shore. But honestly, there are days I want to jump ship, sail my own boat, find my own sea, and some days I do. Those days I lose my way, those days I’m half drowned, but I turn around and find you there. Teach me to trust the one whose voice the waves and wind know.

Now here we are in a different kind of sea, the kind without water. This pit is abundant in ***** yellow devils, illusions and false promises, but all I have are questions and weary feet. Why are we here? Where are we going? Why did we leave? How am I going to shake off this mirage? When is it going to rain? After all we've been through, this is where you're taking me?

My path is an endless circle, a cycle using my sight, my heart, my feelings, my stocked up wisdom to judge my situation and I come to the conclusion that you have deserted me. But you haven't. And I don't understand how you stuck with me through hills and valleys, and never once thought of leaving, but you haven't. Your shadow is cast on me and peace overflows. Maybe I've been asking the wrong questions. Maybe instead of asking you where the stretch of sand ends, I should be asking you to teach me.

Teach me to love you in every season, whether it be the harshest of winters or the wildest of heats. Teach me to understand that deserts make me thirst for water, that I need to be lost so that I may be found, that without a battle there is no victory, that seeds die before they grow into trees. But before anything else, teach me to let the sound of your voice to be what guides me through winding paths and roaring winds, not which road looks smooth or which sky looks dim.

We've been walking on this journey for years now, and I've held your hand long enough to know that all this time you have been teaching me to fall in love with my eyes closed.

i can only write poems about whatever things dishearten me;
i can never bring myself to write anything about you.

ever since i could remember
i would answer crosswords
in the newspaper
and fill in the tiny
vertically and horizontally
stacked boxes
with letters
that formed words
that made sense.
i would play connect the dots
in childish booklets
wherein i'd always
be able to
connect the dots.

moments i spent
with these silly games
and petty riddles,
have definitely not prepared me
for you.
never have i come across
anything as
…puzzling.

you are a jigsaw.

many times i thought
that i could be able
to complete you.
but then, every single time
i try to piece you together
i always end up
blankly staring
at the jumbled up mess
i leave myself with.
now, i realize
that i endlessly try
to create things
that will never
have the slightest chance
of making sense to me.
maybe not yet.

the more i try
to understand you,
the more i ask myself
if you will be worth it
because i’ve spent
too many nights
and have wracked my brain
way too hard
trying to solve a code
that i know
i could never crack.

your facade
will fade.
despite the splendor
of its ornamented
exterior,
in time,
it will crumble
and appear
to be
the wreckage
it had
always been
from the
very start.
this manufactured
structure
with shallow
foundations
and over adornment
cannot stand tall
for long.
one day,
these pillars
will turn into ruins,
burying
you
and all your
falsities
along with its rubble.

i am not a damsel in distress.

neither am i an idle princess waiting for some knight in shining armor to come and save her.

i am the dragon.

and you should go save yourself.

when i looked at my reflection on the surface of the sea, what i saw was a worthless piece of draft wood.

i lonelily float to wherever the current carried my weak and hollow body.

though i believed i had no worth, you held onto me.
you knew i was important, so you wrapped your arms around my fragile frame.

little did i know that the only reason to why you clung to me so tightly was to keep yourself afloat.

once i helped you survive the waves that crashed your way,
once i no longer needed to save you from drowning,
once i helped you find dry land,
you threw me back into the ocean.

but thank you

because you helped me realize that i am not weak;
because you helped me realize that i am capable of carrying the heavy weight of such a burdensome and desperate castaway.

you let me remember who i really am.

since my soul was lost at sea, i had forgotten my identity.
the salty water coming from my eyes blinded me to see that i am not just some worthless piece of draft wood.

i am a galleon,

and i will conquer every ocean you can only dream to explore with me.