they beat on us
for holding up a light

they tear at us
for doing what is right

but fear not, my love.

darkness is not a keeper of light
(they will be driven away)

there is a boa constrictor
wrapped around my ribcage

there is an old story lodged in my windpipe
and i wish Heimlich had been a composer
so i could write it out without turning blue

i am lop-sided
but, alas
there is no one to lean on

it is heavy
(i must sit down)
where is the floor?

i long to talk to strangers
and keep my house clean
and run my hands across my husband's beard
just one more time

all i feel is a loss of circulation
my words won't reach higher than my chest
struggling to escape,
to wriggle through a sealed-off space

i cannot tell if it is my love reaching through my chest
or if it's....

i have an itch on my heart
i can't get to
unless i write about you.

people say we won't always wear smiles
i wonder why they think we can no longer afford them
who do they think they are
predicting the future like that.

i will not let myself be swept away in the winds of human nature
am i not more than a rock that is weathered and shaped with time?

i have my will
- to adore you, kiss you, feed your soul, wrap you in my own skin and call you home.
you have yours
- to make me feel valued, cherished, loved, happy, touch me in ways that no one else has
God has His.
- to make us happy.

and if we are His children,
are we not creators, too?
coaxers of smiles.
forgers of forgiveness in the fires of tragedy and heartbreak.
carpenters of karma.
what we say and do will follow us throughout existence.

we do not have to fit the mold of the world
although, you've always told me i would still be beautiful even if i was round
even if i went round the continents and stayed away for a very long time

you told me i would still be your "Jenny"
and i believe you

because we are creators
doers
masters of our fate.

i will love you until the holes in my socks stretch wide enough to be a ski mask
and even in our poverty i will slip them off and go to bed with you

you will always find a safe place here.

the burden of self is lifted when i laugh at myself. -- Tagore

our generation should be known as the Meowlennials
because our biggest accomplishment was getting cat pictures all over the internet.

it's true.
what they say.
suffering drives you to make laughter.

i take on other people's fears
find their masks lying around
i put them on for fun

i pull threads from people's coats
make a cocoon of them
of the weaknesses
the dreads
the sadness

but why

i want to know what it feels like
want to have pity on their starving, naked souls

but they eat me alive.

let them be keepers of their own darkness
i say
let them reach to you through the prison bars, the high bars set by society that most can never grasp
but i have to take off my shawl and drape it round their shoulders

it's all that i have left

there are two sides to me
one wants to give and give
the other wants to take and keep and scowl at the rainbows as they form overhead

one loves the sun
the other wishes that the rain would stay forever

how to pull me out of myself
out of the dark abyss i've created for my soul