Looking behind me
To my speckled map:
Paths I've traveled
Treasures plucked
Darkened days,
Complete Mind-****'d.

Recollect the eyes
That've met my hazels,
The hands and finger tips
Signatures on my soul,
How love felt like wings
(Or like sinking in a sinkhole).

There are thirty years
Or 11,299 days
That feel like bricks in a bag.
Some are light
Some are sad.

At the bottom of the bag
Are four bricks I cannot reach
The beginning years
As a new earthling.
The other twenty six
Contain seven light weight bricks:
Years of joy and laughter
Of friendship and love
Years of belonging
And stories thereof.

The rest of the bricks:
Nineteen
Are labeled lonely and
Dark and heavy and
Soaking wet
(if bricks can be that)
With salt water tears.
So many so many years.

So here I stand
At life's rest stop no less
To unpack these bricks
My shoulders bare indents
That breath as I undress
Because the bricks are my story
But armor I wear as well.
My heart thuds thuds thuds
Within my protected
Chest citadel.
Unleash and unload
Review and reconcile
Ask myself if ANY OF THIS
Is ******* worthwhile.

I need to stay at this stop
'N take time to ponder
Before I resume
My lonely wander.
I need to learn to love you,
Solitary life.
Then I will succumb
To be your wife.