Laurie says that in high school
people used to call her ocean
everything she did came in waves

she tells me that she never crashes in the right places
I want to tell her to crash on me
that my heart will be
nothing short of the perfect shore

I know that my beaches are covered in rocks
that have not yet softened to sand
so instead I warn her
I am too afraid to swim

instead of saying
do
instead of judging
help
instead of worrying
be
instead of hating
love
instead of hurting
heal
instead of taking
give
instead of crawling
FLY

don't keep quiet.
go, and tell your story.
sing it from the rooftops
and shout it from the mountaintops.
write it in the sky,
tattoo it on your skin
and braid it in your hair;
tell your story.
don't let it go unheard,
because there is wonder
in your story,
there is grace in your
redemption,
because your words
are stepping stones
to freedom.
tell your story.

My heart
Is a happy drunk
A little too open
A little too optimistic
It's over in the corner of the bar
Playing poker
Screaming at the top of it's lungs
I'M ALL IN
When it's never
To this day
Had a winning hand

My heart
Is a sad drunk
A little too lonely
A little too caught up in tears
It's over at the counter
Forcing the bartender to take its keys
Because it would rather not go home
Than go home alone again

My heart
Is a reckless drunk
A little too unbalanced
A little too impaired
It's over by the door
Making everyone nervous
A little too good at scaring people away
A little too far gone

Like you
A little too far gone
Turn your head
Shuffle away and pretend you don't notice
The breakdown of a heart
Too drunk on feelings
To know when to stop

Knead your problems into dough
none of them can survive
at 375 degrees Fahrenheit

When you wake up late
add one chocolate chip
for every minute of morning you missed
take out one chocolate chip
for every time you are unkind

A teaspoon of sugar
for every crumb
that he left on your eggshell heart
a tablespoon of salt
for each time you’ve missed the way
his callused hands felt on your voice box

Drift away on clouds of flour
float down rivers of vanilla extract
a dozen cookies for every time you’ve flinched
at the sound of your own breath

On your knees
burn your throat
watch the cookies resurrect
flush to decompose.

The morning I found the box
of photo albums in the attic
I learned that
the sun would have risen
even if I hadn't

Daylight is not necessarily
a good metaphor
for life

There you were
ten years earlier
having a picnic on the kitchen floor
despite the rain storm
visible through the foggy window behind you

You can make sandwiches
in any type of weather
but seeing the photos
loaned me understanding of why
you don't eat rye bread anymore

When I went back down stairs
I took our bread box outside to the birds
and made you soup
in silence.