“when I see the moon rise in the deep sky, all  
large and looming,   that is hope

and as the sun is red-setting, throwing its last rays
of God-love over the hills,   that is hope

when a ranger sees the homeless man parked in
his illegal overnight spot, and decides not to
disturb his sleep,   that is hope

when you hear a dream from a friend of a wall of
steel wrapping your home whilst fire tornadoes
around it, and wake to find yours one of two
homes still standing,   that is hope

when a son who has received absolutely every
reason to leave, Will Not Abandon his abusive
elderly mother,   that is hope

when the city dims down enough to see the darkness,
lit by a Universe of stars——”

Isn't it a funny feeling; guilt
And the things we feel it for

I'm not sure which is harder; being unloved
Or being taught love is what it isn't

But both leave you robbed

And angry.

"
It took me two decades to understand,
You never knew how;
Yours came with strings of compliance attached

And obligatory love is a **** poor excuse for it.

"
I left, I left
And still the guilt came;

That unwanted visitor who refuses to leave.

I want to get married, I say
and I want to run across every corner of the earth without stop;
but I think I have a soulmate
somewhere in Italy, sipping his after-dinner espresso
and I think I’ve probably got another, sailing around Greece
F_ck, I heard a Columbian’s accent for the first time last night
and—-though I’ve never been to South America—-
I’d bet there’s a few men waiting there for me too, and
How do you pack all the lives you want to live
into just one?
…

In one of our lives, we got married / bought a little house, down by the sea / played music in the mornings dancing wild through the kitchen / nothing but two sets of boxers and breakfast sizzling / retreated to our single studies in the evenings / slow jazz notes tumbling through the quiet hum / I gave you a couple of kids, so I could watch you be a father / and you were the most beautiful thing standing on two legs / teaching your son to ride a bike / cradling your newborn daughter / and every single day was enough / reason to love you harder
…

And still another, we were Old Gods
Intimately entwined of the infallible energies
Birthing entire planets and star systems
  of our chaos and of our joy

And time would pass
and we would grin
just watching
__

"If there is only one thing to do well in this life,

It is to love well;

For if there is anything you are to be judged by

It is the plainness, of your loving."

||

“They tell me to fear the homeless in LA but I do not. They say women alone at night should not be out, but I have my dogs, and we frequent empty parks after dark, side-by-side with encampments, and we watch (my dogs and I) the homeless cart their belongs by. Well, my dog barks.

They hand me giant jugs over chin-high fences, to ask if I would fill them; their freshest water exists from a dog park spout. Last week I saw a man struggling to press a cardboard slat into the grate of an open sewage pipe, his secret resting place. About a month before, a man with all his worldly belongings strewn along the plastic floor of a porta-***** so smeared in ****t, you’d not dare touch a square inch. Rain was pouring, and he needed to sleep with a roof.

And I think, I am not so different from them. Me, with my white skin and pretty smile; people treat you nicer when you’re pretty. When you can put a face on and say straight-sounding things, and not speak of months spent living in your car, sleeping on street-sides, praying for no cops. Or of deep pain——no, do not speak of that. Too much pain makes people afraid, makes people want to look away. How no one noticed the man hiding his face in the sewage drain, the man sleeping in the ****t-smeared porta-toilet,   because   every   person   noticed,   and   just   decided   not   to   look.

and I think about      how many false narratives are propagated by fear——“

.
Will I always be this sad?  Maybe
Perhaps. But there is no reason
you cannot live alongside it,
no thing stopping you from
painting over that chasm with joy

chasm: “a deep fissure in the earth, rock, or another surface.”

Yes, maybe it will always be there, even
‘probably’
But your body is made of earth
and no one is stopping you from
tossing a rope to the bottom;
from climbing down
and planting flowers

—this place, too
            we could make beautiful
.

What draws me in, to this?

Is it love, or something twisted—
Said a mother to her daughter
It's so hard to tell the difference

                            But please;
                                     I need to know the difference

"
I didn't understand then
And I won't pretend to know much more now;
All I can do is try to not be angry
                          
                            And at that, I'll fail.
                                                           ­        But I'll learn

"
I used to believe in the world, with an innocent infatuation for its goodness

Now I believe, with a knowing compassion for its faults

...

I think things that are perfect are easy to love;

         We meet God in our love for that which is not