Two runners meet;
The lonesome path
On which they both do tread
Is shadowed by the maple trees
Which guide them in their stead.

"sturm und drang" sagt ein mann
on the train
it's snowing.

agley they gang, the best-laid plans
plus the pain
of knowing.

Someday I might be a story,
Maybe, just a fragment of your history,
But it is the present now,
I will seize it because I know,
Time waits for no one,
Moments never freeze,
A touch from the breeze,
And the memory is shattered,
Like it never happened,
But for now I have you,
And you have me,
And we will be,
A "you and me".

As cliché and dumb as this may sound, you made me stronger. You taught me that no matter how much time and effort you put into a friendship or relationship with someone, they will eventually leave. The promises and pleas become part of your past. You were toxic; a manipulative *******. You were a pathological liar, a pretender, an actor, a game-playing *******. The fact that I relied on you and put most (all) of my faith into you makes me sick. It's unhealthy and I won't lie, it damaged me in ways that I'll feel forever. But it also helped me. I used to think that I'd never be okay if I didn't have you to rely on. But, these past few months I've realized that you can't count on anyone. The people that wiped your tears, patted your back, and scared the monsters away become the reason for the scars on your wrist. I hate that I let you do that to me. I was blinded and as a result, I have a few scars that will always remind me of you. You are toxic; a manipulative *******. You are a patholical liar, a pretender, an actor, a game-playing *******. You're sick, but who isn't? That's no excuse. You are an excuse-maker as well. You're a good for nothing loser. But, you were good to me in the beginning. I was broken, and you nursed me back to health. So thank you, and *******. ******* so much.

1.
Such vehemence
For immigrants
Border patrol
Vigilance
I never knew
A human being
Could be illegal

2.
A child should never be taught to hate
And human beings must never be insulated
Or inoculated against the horrors of war


3.
There is no liberation in this economy
Debt is a slower and slightly grayer
Variation of slavery
No more cotton fields but prison labor
Tell me where is our great modern emancipator?

It is often in the most mundane moments that I am caught by sense of perspective altering awareness.  Awareness of the ache in my toes from straining to see through the window of what might one day be.  Awareness of the truly humbling way that life can take everything away, leave you sweating against the rock floor, only to show you the beauty in having enough strength to pull yourself back into the light. Awareness of the gratitude that pulses in my veins for the people I have landed amongst.  It is here, in these moments, with pressure reminiscent of hope, disbelief, and wary elation expanding against my rib cage, declarations of affection catching in my throat, that the floors drop.  Endless free fall is the only capacity within which I understand what it means to adore another.  With feet firmly on the ground, I'm guaranteed to lose my way.

Now look, the horse is dead.
Must we dig up its old bones?
They are all around us
Fragments of the last few months
And I tried to pick them up
One by one
Figuring out how they all connected
Figuring out how they all broke
Piece by piece
And I tried to let them go
Last few crystal fragments of the past
They are all around us
Must we dig up its old bones?
Now look, the horse is dead.