Hanging in the gallery of my soul, decorating the walls. I’ve hung many canvases, some that you have never seen.

The wall behind me holds a portrait,  painted beautiful with hues of green and blue; this portrait shows things in life that have never been.

Next, you will see a canvas painted with a beautiful bouquet, showing all the things I’ve given away in life.

Look to your left—don’t turn too far, you might miss this tiny masterpiece that some call art. This tiny art piece shows the littlest kidney bean in the palm of my hand. What was once a dark spot on it, now removed, shows how much grace this little thing has produced.

As you walk by, you see a hanging, almost clear sheet; this is what it feels like when people look at me.

On the wall behind the sheet is a beautiful display showing many footprints of everyone who has walked in my life today.

In the corner, on a little shelf, a broken vessel sits. This vessel was put back together without its biggest piece. Though tattered and misshapen, this vessel still shows so much beauty.

On the biggest wall, by itself, you see a boldly shaped red heart painted so brightly; this piece shows how my heart feels when I am being loved just right.

So, as you have walked and wandered in this gallery of my soul, I hope you find comfort and know that not all of your precious art can be sold.

We are but sand upon the waves,
sliding slowly until the night arrives.
But every step we take together
leaves footprints that can live for centuries.

My thoughts—waves in sea,
Footprints left upon the sand
are gone forever.

I wrote a poem for you the other day but ill never give it to you
Just like i wrote you a letter everyday that i felt your memory swipe at my brain stem that month of June
You left footprints when you walked out unknowing that i could follow but as time wore on the footprints began to fade and so did you..

Winter had arrived
overnight, and

we had slept soundly through it, the
snow smothering

any sounds that dared
try to escape.

The morning arrived clear and sunny
and cold.

I was washing the dishes in that
old kitchen sink of ours when I noticed them—

footprints through the snow in our backyard—I couldn’t
say how many sets there were—

starting at the back fence and
proceeding directly

to our kitchen window. You
told me that you were going to head outside

to shovel the walk, but I told you
that I would take care of it, and I put on

my boots but no jacket, and I walked
out the back door, shovel held tightly

in hand. The tracks traced
the full perimeter of our house—

they appeared to be searching
for something—and they stopped

right outside of her
bedroom window—I couldn’t say

how many sets there were, or how long
they’d stood there while she slept.

I don’t know what
compelled me, but I turned the shovel

over, hurriedly using its edge to scrape
away the footprints there beneath the

window, the grass beneath them still
green and struggling to breathe.

And when I came back inside
you asked me

what I was up to out there, and I told you
that it was too cold

to shovel, that we should put on
another *** of coffee,

that we should stay inside
and not face the day,

and let the children
keep sleeping.

Slugs or lettuce
fur from flesh
ask any Vegan
they know best.