a door i thought would unlock
remains unmovable in my grasp.
the shock of the fact racing down my spine
faster than a dead man falling from the sky.
a stone dropping in my stomach,
the word "Wait" haunting my every step
and consuming every minuscule thought.
i believed tales of my grandmother and
speeches about the future would be enough.
they were not.
so now i turn back.
looking to find the key buried among the bushes
or hanging from a tree branch.
and retracing my path to find
what stepping stone i missed along the way.
the heavy knowledge that this battle isn't over yet
bleeds into every step, making it harder than before.
and yet...
i can hardly stand to speak the words
but...
in a tiny corner,
half obscured by shadow,
there lives a young ember named hope
and it refuses to burn out.
here's to praying it'll start a forest fire.

my mother used to tell me
that the stars were all the people
we had loved in our past lives.
each one a person that we had called a friend
or someone who had lived in the warm house of our hearts.
i would like to think it was true.
i hope that one day i can be an entire constellation
in somebody's night sky.

i dreamed of the day i would wear white
in silk, or satin, or maybe even lace.
"speak now or forever hold your peace"
after awhile,
i realized your dad's face was the one mischievously smiling
and your hands were the ones
i'd been holding the whole time.
because your hands were the only ones i had known for a year.
it's been two months now
but parts of your universe still bleed into mine,
still some tiny part irrevocably tied.
maybe i'll find a pair of scissors soon.

electricity no longer runs through these tired veins.
eyes are shattered glass. vision obscured by a film of numbness.
laughter sits on my chest uneasily, not sure how to fill
the cracks in my heart.
talking has become an anomaly, my voice lost on deaf ears.
no one notices the splintered girl
trying in vain to feel the currents of heat rising,
to feel anything.
what i would give to be able to see lightning in the sky
and to feel the static between my palms.
the purple-white flashes leaving imprints
on the backs of my eyelids,
they make me remember who i used to be.
i miss the crowds and the voices of the broken
acting as conductors of the near tangible energy.
i could have flown into the sky
when i had those nights in the palm of my hand.
i was charged, alive.
sometimes i swore i could see the webs of lightning
raising the hairs on my arms.
it was real to me.
so here i remain
praying for my spark.
just one spark.

how do you define this feeling
when it's
the taste of honeysuckle on your tongue
and the feeling of the wind running through your fingers.
how do you explain this feeling
when it's
the bright spill of chalk on sunbaked pavement
and the glow of sparklers on the 4th of July.
how can you save this feeling
when it's
the sound of crickets and grasshoppers playing your favorite melody
and the brilliant pop of purple heat lightning
in the air that promises a million things to come.

i feel closest to you at night
or as the setting sun lovingly paints
the floor and walls of my house golden.
i think it's because i associate you with the things that feel
like home.
loving you is like the habitual routine of winding down
for sleep after a long day.
warm, laundered sheets.
the drag of heavy eyes and tired feet
and then
relief when they meet the softness of rest.
that state between consciousness and sleep,
a dreamy, floating escape.
when it's just me, you, and the moon,
we all share some unspoken secret of familiarity.
not always a surging storm,
more like a swift, constant river warmed by the sun.
i even trust you with my dreams,
the one part of myself i truly can't control.
what i'm trying to say, my love,
is that loving you is having all
the safe, soft pockets of time tucked away in my heart.
you are all the good in this world
and loving you illuminates it.