It's been a long time since I looked in the mirror and didn't see a stranger.
A long time since "you're beautiful" wasn't met with an instant shake of the head and a laugh.
I don't think he realizes what he's done to me.
While I was busy holding myself together with duct tape and glue, he was learning to stitch his own heart.
And our scars are reminders not of what horror we went through, but that we can make it through anything.
I'm not going to lie, I'm still a mess.
But he's helping me sweep up my broken pieces and catalog what caused the brokenness to begin with.
And as afraid as I am that failure is imminent,
His arms feel like a place I could call home for a long, long time.

The angels that you can and cannot see
float in and out of life so gracefully;
enfold in winged embraces one by one,
celestial comforters when day is done.
Some angels take the shapes of passers-by
so you might see the Spirit in their eyes.
A smile that lifts the day from the mundane;
a kind hand up, a loving act conveyed.
The unseen angels hover in the realm
where power manifested overwhelms
our common senses. There behind the scenes
they battle fears and reinforce our dreams.
Take counsel from a humbled man, once proud;
they only enter lives when they're allowed.

I think
One of the most
Beautiful things

I witness often
Is a mother
And her child

How she looks after
Them so lovingly

Truly amazing

I love caring women

In my dreams
I read poems
With women

They comfort me
And I drink
Nourishing
Breast milk

The faces don't match the voices.
The voices don't sound right,
and a sunny day such as this one
doesn't just suddenly turn to night.

I think I might be dreaming, I whisper to myself,
who then nods in agreement
and points to the way out.

The scents don't match the scenery.
The scenes aren't adding up,
and politely asking the gasping walls doesn't make them stop.

"I'm trying to find my way out of here," I say to my own face,
who echoes back the question
after a short delay.

I point to the space behind him,
then he points at my head.
I think I might be dreaming,
or else I might be dead.

I see myself as I was before
walking in through the Exit door;
confused and lost and in need of help.
I calmly point him to the way out.

It doesn't make any sense though,
and it's the farthest thing from fair.
*Walls don't even have lungs,
so how can they breathe air?

Too much mercury
in your soup
now the world
is all Topsy turvy
nah
it was always twisted
but now you can see
though I don't suppose
that's any real comfort.