there is a god
but you’ve more
than one
birthplace

i am the hookah queen

       and drifting in my hookah dream, i find
that i have no one else

  to care for.

i know nothing of their bitterness,
                           their wantonness, their greed,

i know nothing of that world,

    only me.

              and sifting through my hookah dream,

              colored with a hookah ream,


and pulled apart with all the careless shadows,

                                 i smile, (i the hookah queen) and contentedly i drift,

i am going, i am going, i am gone.

call me an architect with shaking
hands, building buildings built
to crumble --
     if that what it takes to
     keep you, so be it;
     i'll find you in the rubble

long hugs* like anchors to keep me steady out on turbulent seas
2. dance music that beats my heart to basslines injected with adrenaline
3. warm weather that holds me close with gentle breezes and sunshine kisses
4. bright colors like neon signs in dark rooms and old toys and cartoons
5. love songs for strangers with deep smiles across crowded rooms
6. stained glass windows of churches because God gave humans eyes for beauty
7. long drives with good music and good imagination for good thoughts/good talks
8. bath bombs that color me beautiful, perfumes and pinks and blues
9. tomato soup + grilled cheese that melt in mouths and keep cold hands toasty
10. heavy summer rain drenching everything without chilling bones to the marrow
11. reading for hours on end with the steady mantra "one more chapter, one more..."
12. slam poetry that reaches out to souls and empathy, connecting melodies to bodies
13. holding hands, fingers tucked between so skin sticks with affectionate friction
14. purring cats that keep away all the depressive episodes
15. round stones like lost dragon eggs waiting to be furnaced into new life
16. fresh laundry with warm hoodies and the simple motion of folding clothes
17. the moon and her pale smile, a reminder that the sun is still there
18. swing sets in any setting, ghosts of children of memories on worn ropes
19. fresh flowers that sit in grocery stores waiting to be the highlight of a day
20. hot leather car seats that stick to sweaty thighs on sweltering summer days

*21. one-line poems written in the belly of nighttime on too-hot summer nights, counting down the days and counting up the stars, crossing fingers in 'x's over slowly-beating hearts.

like maybe god got into your head and left her mark on a clue.  like maybe you’re the meal a father imagines he’ll make to injure an animal.  like maybe there’s the eye has mama’s strong stomach and the eye has her hypnosis.  like maybe you have one leg because it’s the leg taught baby to burn its food on a pig.  like maybe talk is the scar this language looks at while going from snow to ash.

let’s be love letters
written to broken hearts
with words of kindness, of grace,
of hope.
let’s be love songs
that play over and over,
that echo in every soul.
let’s be shoulders to lean on,
open wide arms,
open wide hearts.
let’s be lights
that lead each other home.

when god made a sun
brighter than the sun
the sun was the brightest
(and the sun was you)

when god made a sea
deeper than the sea
the sea was the deepest
(and the sea was you)

when god made a sky
higher than the sky
the sky was the highest
(and the sky was you)

if god made you
greater than you
you would be no one
(and god would be you)