I thought that
reaching out my hand from
  black coats and layers
that
slipping off a glove to
let my fingers out
to feel you
would
make
you
feel
me
too.

There's a way
in fall that seems
forgotten
a way in
Autumn that
  never fails to own
you

I'm sitting in a
coffee shop,
but my heart's in
Barcelona.

When I was
              considering eternity,
a brooding,
primrose ghost
of who
I was
before December

Before the nights were
long &
the days were
shorter -

I was like a
  swan who sat
still,
brass or porcelain,
until the chill of leaving
    pulled me out
the door
       into the
         hope
  of building a nest
somewhere new.

In orange light,
and October's amber
flood
it's the first time I've felt my pulse, my bones, my hands, my heart,
my blood

In a room
awkwardly shifting in my
chair
I'm noticing my body moving, it's the first time I'm awake and
I'm aware

For years I've lived,
trapped in a haunting
plea
It's the first time I've been pulled out and seen that she's in the room
with me.

When I look at her face,
a small child who is "she"
  and it's clear she has no
idea of stale ideals that block her
path

You are a small angel, and
you're unaware of trails that look like gold

There is truth: they are just gift-wrapped.
hiding "be polite.
"don't sit like that.
"cross your legs.

Here is your truth: You are not small. You are full of magic and there is no path that you don't own.

It has been
3 years since
some
        thing
buried me

3 winters
3 falls
3 summers
3 springs

I've felt so
guilty
  since I left
everything

The people
the places
and most of my
things

It's been 3 long years
and 12 mind-numbing
    seasons

But I think I am back
and that life has
  a reason.

This is not the first time
I've died

This is not the last

this is not about
reincarnation
or something from
"the past"

this is not the last time
I rise

This cannot be the last

I'm talking about moving on
and only glimpsing back.