Would you rather forgive
Knowing you had been wronged
Than stand by your righteousness
And remain alone at the top
Separating yourself out of penance for your mistakes
And separating from others out of intolerance for theirs?

Are you really at the top, then?
And is the view really worth it
When it can’t be shared?

Isn’t the point of forgiveness to give grace for mistakes
Those out of ignorance
And those out of negligence?
If it wasn’t truly hurtful
It wouldn’t need help to heal.

The deeper the hurt, the more effort it takes
To preserve
And rebuild
A home you can save.

Don’t mistake our “true colors”
From what truly are simple mistakes.
Don’t assume malice
When ignorance is to blame.
We are all human in our missteps and stumbles.
Don’t be fooled into thinking you’re the only agile hunter
In a world of clumsiness, of scrapes and falls.

How do you fit so much meaning
into such little space?

Like all my love
in one kiss

or all the world
in mere paint.

I’m suffocating
And I can feel the noose tight around my neck
Choking, gasping
I don’t recognize the hands
The skin is old, the nails *****
As if from digging out of their own grave
I reach up, and grasp
And feel the rope slipping from between my fingertips
The hands are my own
But I cannot feel
I can’t feel anything but
The bite of knife tips against my skin
Imagined, or not
I can feel it
Etching lines like
Fault lines across ceramic
I am untempered glass
On the verge, waiting to shatter
I am shattering
Shuddering, shaking
Shattered
And waiting in the silence
For when I can no longer hold my breath
The small breeze
Will blow the fragments and dust away

“You can only fracture something
so many times
before you realize it can’t
be put back together.”

And I had my hands full of glass
before I saw
all the blood. It took too long
for me to see
what it all had become.

Writing feels like painting with the widest brush
Making out shapes and forms on a vast canvas.
I like to sketch out stories like the scaffolding for a house
The framework for a window
The braces for a great tower
But to leave enough blank space for anyone to color it in.

Creations of their own fitting between the lines
Too specific and the details are overwhelming
But just vague enough to hint at beauty,
Light cresting over hilltops with golden glimmers of wheat
Vast waves forming in the dawn of a rising day
But the town, the colors, the city of people are made
In your image, dear reader,
Dear dreamer
You, writer.

Making from scratch
The next batch
A new breed of life,
Watching it rise, covered
Yet to be unveiled, revealed
The growth a secret, kept to myself

Self-sustaining
Thoughts remaining
Only feeding into the cycle

Letting the good, and the bad
Wash over like rainwater
I like the smell in the morning

Doesn’t it let the grass grow greener?

From just below the surface
Reflections of dreams and nightmares
Lay on each side of the mirror.

I wipe the fog from the window
And look through
To see myself.

My bed is cold
Even as I burrow deeper into the sheets
Waiting for spring
With the flower buds buried on the windowsill.

I can't tell if I'm asleep or awake
As I drift
The numbness, the quiet
Is peaceful.

When the sun rises
I will stir
And unearth from the soil
Blooms which have been waiting, so patiently
To show the brilliance
Hiding below the surface.

Healing isn't linear
It's obvious when we say it,
but it slips our mind as we are blinded
by the steep walls and cliffs
of the mountain ahead.

Cliffs waiting to be scaled
looking insurmountable
Turning to find another path
feels like turning back to quit.

Spending a night in the midst of the deep foliage,
vines twining around limbs, digging thorns into our spines
Feels not like a rest before fighting another day
but falling into a sleep that will never end.

But eventually
winding and twisting and
climbing up boulders, then
sliding back in the gravel
only to do it again
and again

The summit will appear over the edge,
and the sun will rise on your first day
on the top of the mountain
above the weight of all those memories.

You will still find thorns in your shoes
every now and then,
but you will always be able to look back
at the great mountain that you climbed
the great trials that you faced
and find pride in what you have overcome.

Does everyone feel like
Happiness requires discipline,
Or is it just me?

Truthfully, we are our actions
Not our accomplishments.
We exist in
Being
Not in doing.
In living the same day
As every day,
In having happiness in each repetition
And not trapping our contentment
Beyond the horizon,
We can finally be
Happy.

It doesn't happen every day
And it's not particularly remarkable
But it's these kinds of days
That feel remarkably perfect.

The simplicity in the ordinary
Finding sparks of happiness in that in-between
Standing on edges, making something grand of what is seen:
At dusk and dawn,
There is light in both.

The magic doesn’t come from
having the strength of will
to push down all other thoughts
of comfort, of wants
to cancel out all but The One Thing:
the Magic comes from
hearing yourself,
hearing all those
thoughts, and wants, and prayers
from deep inside your soul
and even those from the surface of your skin
and, after hearing them,
turning your attention back to
The One Thing
because you choose to.

If you chase an empty mind, it will be filled
with the chasing, with the lack of silence:
try instead to choose to focus-
and keep choosing,
every day.

The sound of that focus,
The One Thing
will grow so loud
it will drown out all else,
and all the universe will fall into step with you.

Helping myself
But what is it all for?
I climb slowly out of the hole
I didn't realize I had been digging for myself
Though I know as my vision crosses the rim
There will be nothing but a foggy open field.
Damp in the clouded light,
Unable to tell evening from night
Sunlight or moonlight, it makes no difference
I have no flashlight anyway
And no one is here from whom I could ask for one.

It is good to want for yourself
But what is the good in wanting,
If you are wanting alone?

I guess the hope is in the waiting
For a light across the field
Maybe, there is only the theory
You could only chance finding another
If you have both climbed out to the surface.

I'm hesitant to hope
Caution tempered by the memory of hot stovetops
Still felt in my fingertips.

But I know
From the chances I've lost,
The opportunities I've let pass me by
That the only way to live a life
Is to let the windows open up
And lean out to smell the roses -

Don't live under the weight of,
"It's the hope that kills you."
Be freed to seek new answers, let life be open-ended
Ask yourself: "Do you believe in miracles?"

Now, when she smiles,
there’s some sadness in her eyes

I don’t think you ever thought
how much of your thoughtlessness
would find a place
inside her mind

She’s still kind
and yet I wonder why?

How long can she last
behind her smile?

It’s defiant
a glimmer in the dark
It comes with the tide,
her lonely eyes
There’s still something, there inside
It just took a while
to purify the poison from
inside her mind

Now when she cries
her eyes have changed
She looks past the tears, to better days
Some sunshine still remains
The flame that burned under the shame
under the blame
There are mistakes left to be made
Though it will fade, it will return the same

The shifting sands left room
for her to write her name
She sits among the rocks,
within the shade
Patient in the surety of better days.

I don't need to prove myself to you
To any of you
Because there are still parts of you that disappoint me.

You are not who I want to be.
So why would I ever be
******* in knots
At the thought of disappointing you?

If I want to sleep at night?
I sleep alone.
So really, I only need to be at peace with
Myself.

Not that
That's always easy,
But it's easier than
Finding peace with you.

I need to prove -
what, I do not know
to whom, I do not know
I have such a need to
prove myself fitting the definition,
the standard
of those who
hold no standard to me, in reality
I need to prove
nothing
I can be everything.

I wish I could turn it off
And be happy with being alone
No longer wish for connections
Stop wanting the things that hurt me.

I am happy alone
But I would be happier if I wasn't
And seeing the empty space beside me
Has made all the difference.

It distracts from the view
Though I wish it didn't
And even if I don't look, I can hear it, in the silence
I wish I could be happier alone.

I am my best friend.
I will never trust another over me again.
After the long nights
and early mornings
and long trials of back-and-forth-ing,
I have studied myself and can promise one thing:
I know me more than you do.

So if you ever begin to think
I am missing something big
come and slip a note to me -
criticism is welcome, but I will choose what I take and leave.

I have my back
I hold the line
I trust my truth and have a spine
I'll defend my reputation against those friends
who weren't friends at all, in the end.

I'd rather be "alone" than have to pretend.
I'd rather be my own best friend.

I can hold my own hand
to pull myself out of this grave

The shovel could be yours, or mine
But I will climb out alone.

I didn’t need a savior.
But you needed to be one.

When I didn’t want you to fix me
When I was no longer an easy solution
When I just wanted you to be there for me
When I just needed someone to sit in the dark
with me,
And leave the flashlights off
To listen to the shadows with me
When I know, you couldn’t really hear them
But I could
When all I needed was your presence.
You decided that was too much to ask.

It was too hard to be there
Without speaking
It was too hard to speak
Without judging
It was too hard to judge
Without blindness, hypocrisy, arrogance:
You had to be the savior, so generous
life-saving
for me, because, look-
how broken am I
forcing vulnerability for you.

It was too much
to accept the validity of merely being kind.
You wouldn’t accept the lowly title,
of being only
my friend.

We step gently,
for few stones
are seen above the surface:

deep or shallow
no one knows
yet just one slip seems fatal.

Restrained by fear
we name it
“Patience,” keeping us alive.

Avoid our own
reflection
or maybe just stranger’s eyes.

We like the dark
shut the blinds
“ignorance is bliss,” they say.

Why take the leap,
risk it all,
on a meager shred of faith?

I hope you do.
You may find
it’s been shallow all this time.

I drive home
Past the same highway markers
I envisioned in my dreams, in the hours driving here
Waiting and waiting for the road north to turn west
Slowly narrowing
Until I'm on my street
In my driveway
I reach the door,

No one's home. The lights are off
I look outside, the tree in the front yard
Lies dead. Not dormant
I know it won't flower in the spring
No one has been caring for it

The dishwasher is full
The clutter on the table
A photo of it all would sound like footsteps coming down stairs
This isn't the way I pictured it.
None of my future is the way I dreamed, as a kid
Life left me on hold
And the music is giving me a headache
I can't wish away the silence.

I can only watch the past form around me
Like concrete burying my feet
Pouring, pouring, up around my knees -
I know it in my bones, I will be buried in this house
Or at least, some important part of me
Will never leave

As my body continues forward, trudging
The parts who were hurt, fatally wounded
Will stay here. I'll be buried in the yard
With no one to mark a grave
Flowers won't be left, and none will grow
I've been left in this wretched place,
I used to call home.

I would never wish pain on another
let alone the one that I love
Yet, I wish
you would tell me “I miss you”
so I know
we both miss us.

When you finally make it
to the height of your dreams
and it is just as bland, flawed, and tedious
as they all said it would be
and it is perfect.

My joy is not born from
all the highlighted phrases and favorite moments
but instead grows in
all the space in between.

In the second before it shatters, it is as if the world is quieter
paying respects in the moment before it all happens

though truthfully, no one knows it is coming
it is not as if the volume is muted

it feels, as it slips
so cold, so much colder than it was
like shaking hands with death
as if the last grasp on its edges
is the clinging to life of a dead man's hand,
his fingers curling around your own
just before

the shatter of ceramic
it is deafening.

It was not emphasized by surrounding silence,
in fact
it was surrounded, even overcome by the noise around it
but for even a moment, no one paused
for even a breath
no one saw how it shattered her
in that moment

that was all it took.

I remember how it felt
When all the pieces fit together
When I felt it couldn't be more perfect
And I could bear any weather,
And slowly, each piece was stripped away
Like a house on fire-
I watched it burn and collapse
Room by room
An inferno.
It left nothing behind
But myself, and my pride.
When it was dug out of the rubble
I glimpsed it buried from the sidewalk
The metal twisted, charred in places
But I tucked it in my pocket.
I'll keep walking down my street
(Though it isn't mine anymore)
Until I find a new town to be a part of-
Maybe a home once more.

I trust my past
Knowing it could be worse
And if it couldn't
Knowing it won't last.

I remember, I remind myself
Of the times the sun felt warm
The laughter felt unburdened
The breeze felt unhurried
The company felt wanted

I know it will feel this way again.
In times like this
I appreciate the sunlight on the leaves,
The moments of brightness speckled in the shade
And wait patiently for the clouds to dissipate.

Speaking into silent nights,
I step into someone else's shoes -
Walk the paths, late at night
Through cemeteries and past grand tombs.

They fit well, are deeply worn,
From all the readers who wore them before
And we pace, muttering,
Some fast and some slow
Lurking in the murky spaces the stanzas show.

The view is the same and the sun never rises
The eternal evening is peaceful in its quiet.
Ravens caw overhead, our mind's eye marked in lead
It sketches the pavement under our feet.

The path has been walked a thousand times,
More so, over this past hundred years
With good fortune, it will be walked again
By students of writers, and those readings through tears.
We walk in your shoes,
To see what you see
And together we share small moments to breathe.

I can feel my self,
my grip on reality
slipping, melting
like Salvador Dali's "Persistence of Memory"
I can't find which way is up
what direction is forward in time
unless it really is already over -

what time is it?

asks the mad rabbit
in this hellhole of a fun-house mirror-maze
I am a child, sprinting into the unknown, and
slamming into every obstacle
I cannot seem to perceive
it is funny to everyone but me

what time is it?

I don't mind that I've lost my phone,
and they don't keep clocks up in this bar

what time is it?

the nightstand is too blurry to see

what time is it?

is it already over?

Isn't there tragedy
In sacrificing yourself for other's beauty?
In stepping back from the spotlight
Because another craves it more.
They are also beautiful,
But the eyes of the audience never pass by a second time.
You find solace in capturing moments through the lens
Holding them in your hands
You stay behind the camera
Ever the watching, never the watched
Unseen until it's published
And read to the end.

Is it selfish to want to be less selfless, if only to be seen?

I know the pattern of a losing battle for love, intimately,
because it has snuck up on me so many times
I know how the floorboards creak under his footsteps
as he steals my heart with gentle whispers
never to return it again.

I am not my wants
not even my dreams, nor my deepest desires
I am my actions
I am the love I choose to pursue, and leave in my wake, every day
I am merely
the girl, the woman
sitting on a stone, looking to the grass
listening to the world play.

That is all.
And all of that?
It is well. It is well enough for me.

I cannot explain my fear
of what you must think of me,
because I don't know what you're thinking
when we are not speaking.
so the void is filled with
all those old sayings,
cliches and paraphrases
of what I've heard before.
even after all this,
I am still surprised, every time, when what you say
pushes those voices away
I wish you could wrap me in your arms
so I never have to hear their words again.

How much does it take to grow,
and change?
How much does it take to stay open?

Time, effort, pain -
People will only believe you
if you can prove it hurt to get there

But to not become jaded
To avoid the tarnish that comes with
washing, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails
a thousand times over

Remember to polish and shine
preserve the tenderness in your soul
Keep your heart open and kind
even as you gain strength to protect your own.

Jealousy is
a sneaky beast

With her crescent claws
and dripping fangs

She climbs her way inside your veins
a hidden threat

She sneaks inside
she nests in pain

Pretends to hide
in angry veins

Blood pumping, it's copper-tasting
lying awake

Sleepless nights of
convincing frights

Assigning fault
high as a kite

Her venom is swift, when she bites -
who tries to fight?

How could you, when it feels like she's
protecting you?

Prisms of colored glass
When shone through all together
Make a mingling mural of design
Beautiful, angry, kind, tender
But one look at each piece
Each one is completely different from the next
The side you see written, published, speaking, standing
Are all different views than the rest
How do you know a whole person?
How many views do you need?
How many visions have you shared with friends,
How many are left within yourself to see?

We seek absolution
meaning,
forgiveness
when it does not need to be "found" at all.

The point of love, of trust, we witness
is that it is free -
free from strings attached,
free from forced bent knees.

If it comes at a cost,
unwrap it, and see clearly:
the attached price tag is enough
to reveal its inauthenticity.

Beware of cloaked expectations,
control disguised as love.
A pure heart should be the only price paid
for love.

Be resolute in your search,
and return to those who give freely:
only these true gemstones are worth keeping
and calling good company.

Maybe this will be the last time, I say to myself
and still, I wrap my arms around my chest,
palms flat against my ribs
as if I could cradle my own heart in my hands as I fall
hoping something will catch me.

While it hurts to hit the ground, unless I jump
I will remain unchanged, unseen,
unfound.
So, here I am, all that I am:
and I fall.

You owe no debts to who you were five minutes ago. One minute ago. One second ago.

There is no karmic well you need to climb, drag yourself, out of-
well, if there is, may I direct your attention to the door by your side.
You only need to step through it.

The trouble is, you must keep stepping through it:
Again, and again, and again
Unlocking this door, though really it wasn’t locked before
and step through, over the threshold
again, and again, and again.

You must choose,
every time.
And no, not choosing isn’t an option,
because deciding not to choose is a decision, too.

You must keep choosing yourself
who you want to be - even more so, who you are
right now.
In this moment,
you keep choosing, again and again
you are not changing yourself: the change already happened
the moment you truly decided.

But you prove it
you are proven, like metal forged in fire
with every decision you make.

Sometimes, you will strike the iron wrong.
So you must hit it twice more to flatten out the steel.

You keep choosing, and choosing, and choosing:
Hammering in
who you really want to be
(as opposed to who you say you want to be).
And so- in this very effort
in the drops of sweat and blood and tears

so you are.

You owe no debts to who you were five minutes ago.
Except this one: to always keep becoming better.

I have mended my soul
The splintering cracks
Painted them with gold
I fear will fade into brass.

I have sewn up my heart
The rough, jagged tears
With threads of silk gossamer
Becoming tattered with wear.

It should bring some solace
That it is part of the art
For these kinds of things
To keep breaking apart.

Hours, waiting
Left at the dock
The water cool as I dip my feet
Pants rolled above my ankles
The sun sets beyond the horizon
As I know he's not coming,
But I try to enjoy the evening anyway.

Each time the note is slipped under my door
The handwriting is different, the phrasing
But the date and place is always the same
So every Friday, this is where I am:
Alone, waiting.

Someone smarter, maybe,
Better in some way
Better for herself, or better for someone else
Might not have found themselves in such a position
For these propositions.
I can't even tell if they're from strangers, or maybe
Just written from myself, and I can't remember

But I hope, anyway,
And I show up
Just in case
There was a reason left
For hoping.

I feel like I’m having
heart palpitations, gasping
for air, grasping for
anything
holding on
to sand that is slipping through my fingers
terrified of the time passing me by
so quickly,
and somehow

I can still focus on every grain as it falls
they each sparkle, in the light
before they’re gone

thousands of seconds and hours
days, slipping away
the crashing feelings of
loneliness, terror, of failure, for love
the heart cries out desperately
seeking an answer, a permanence,
to stop the bleeding

but the only answer is to fall into it.

To accept the change, the flow, and
move with it:

let yourself, and your heart
feel everything -
leave it exposed on your sleeve
so you are not a numb observer
but find yourself in every grain as it falls
and while you mourn, be grateful
you held it for even a moment at all.

Finding beauty in the ordinary: it is like
being guided by the light of the stars
trusting in the beckoning fluorescence ahead
tracing the paths lit up between high clashing waves
choosing a direction, just as much as
being chosen
after all, any is better than drowning,
movement keeps you alive, rather than than staying still, unchanging
we all swim in this grand ocean, perpetual
particles, lost, floating
guided by the light we see.

Life seems duller, without you here
even as we wait
to meet.

I wish I could do it over again
But at least let me live vicariously through you
Stopping you from making my mistakes
Celebrating your joys
Being proud of your successes
I can love you from afar
How I wish I was loved
Watch you fly
With my clipped wings.

Maybe I'll join you when I heal
But for now, I can only see the sky
Through your eyes.

I felt offended when she asked me
Even though it was the same question I had been asking myself
Back and forth in my head, for months
Because wasn’t the answer so clear?

It was startling, how potent my reaction was
I answered with my whole chest
In a way I hadn’t been able to speak in the mirror
Sometimes only being tested will reveal the answer.

See the beauty of the flowers
Those left to the wild, to the whims of the world
Unassisted by earthly hands
How relentlessly beautiful they grow.

Hear the birds, singing proudly
Free and flying high
And remember that despite their struggles
They are taken care of, as you will be.

Are you not, at least,
As beautiful as a flower
Do you not
Have words as important as the birds
If not more so?
For you are one of Abraham's stars in the sky
You will be comforted.

I focus on others instead of myself
their actions, their words, their votes, their thoughts
I am losing my mind, filling the space
with anything I can find,
filling that aching emptiness, feeding the craving with
Belonging
Belonging to the wave,
we are so great, so powerful, together
Belonging
to a movement that can be nothing but just and righteous
I am also just, I am also righteous, I am also strong -
our hand moves as one
to drop our papers in the ballot box
to sign the petition
to tear down the sign
to throw the bottle
to smash the car
to shove the man
to pull the trigger -
what has happened to me?
I don't know who I am.

I don't think I ever did.

I am lost, lost and drowning,
drowning in this sea of right and wrong
the lights are off, I can't see one from the other in the dark:
finally, a light I can swim to! finally, a hand I can reach-
and reaching out

I find comfort. I find peace. I find strength
because here, I belong
in the hand of God.

Maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take what you can give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

All the love I give you
Will stab me in the back

But where can I go wrong
If it's all never gone right
I'll keep shooting in the dark
Let it go without a fight

I have nothing left to give, but
Everything I have
Unless I keep it to myself
I'll be alone until the last

So, maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take the pieces you give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

One day, maybe, someday
You'll want to love me back.

Time lulls,
Slows to a dull throb
From the incessant ticking
That spears behind my eyes
Giving me migraines
Through long days and late nights
In some places, in the right light
It slows until it is barely heard
A calm beat, even on occasion
Complete and simple silence.

Airports, park benches
Country roads where you wonder
If by some accident you drove over the edge of the world
Because there is no sign of life
Only the endless horizon
Frozen at dusk:
The clouds aren’t moving as you speed,
Then slow
To enjoy the view
And you find yourself surprised
Not expecting the next stop sign.

Lulls in time
On walks through your neighborhood
In the odd halfway hours when no one is home
You feel as if the world is open ahead of you
And every claim of prosperity heard in childhood just might be true
You step around the oysters at your feet
Imagining the perfect color which will catch your eye
The moment you’ll select, finally, just the one
Rolling a smooth pearl gently through your fingers
Immune to the passage of time
It is weightless, rolling off your skin like rain
Peaceful
And in this lull, sweet and calm
You are safe and strong and
Everything you had dreamed.