When he’s standing in your doorway
Clean-shaven, distanced,
Recognize that once he was
Scouring the cracks in the blacktop,
Picking pansies with the weeds
And clumping them together to declare
The love letters he had written along the sidewalks,
Blue chalk sprawling beside her walk home.

And one day he was standing before her desk,
A medley of a bouquet lodged under his fingernails,
That he took to be the most beautiful piece of art.
Lips slightly chapped, chest rising quickly,
In a moment of unadulterated courage he ****** his arms forward
To present the best offering he could.
And all she saw was the dirt.

When I mention my demons
You picture creatures of horror
Contorted faces of terror
Alive to haunt my dreams
And corrupt my mind
With malicious laughter
You imagine twisted voices
Laced with insanity
That push me into the dark
With a touch as cold as a knife’s steel blade
You fear the thought of them
Of me

But my demons are gentle
They’re quiet
I feel their warm breath against my ears
When they whisper softly
Perhaps you don’t hear them because you aren’t listening
For their sharp words
Are said out of love
And their nails digging into my skull
Are only there to keep me safe
In the absence of their presence
I am worse
Which is why I let them stay
Because my demons are real

on a gentle breeze
fluffy dandelion seeds
did saunter around

2AM. Anxiety rings
Insomnia with it, it brings
I wish to sleep, close my beaten
Eyes. My thoughts quieten, Retreat in
To the place where I no longer have to think
All the experiences of today and my past interlink
My subconscious taking over with pictures they slink
down into dreamworld I hope I'd go This time I think
But unfortunately, That's not the way it is.
So I lie awake in my bed.
Thoughts
Rushing
around
in my
head
inst
ea
d

The aquarium is a jar
that crams the bottomless sea,
within a glass bottle.
Like the pool of liquid in my palms
that reflects the starry sky above,
it is a fragment
of what cannot be fractured.

With the subtle 𝘱𝘰𝘱 of her bubblegum,
I became numb.
I knew then that I had been trapped underneath
the gentle pressure of her thumb.

Wind has such range:
It is gentle enough
To make a hot day better
Or
Strong enough
To wreck havoc

I think people are the same
Each capable of both extremes

I learned gentleness from a giant of a man
whose reach
reached full round the world and deep into my wounds,
offering a strength and a healing
that was light as a whisper
and heavy as a salve
that gave off an aroma which took me back
to my mother’s arms,
her safe smell and the music of her song,
rocking me gently and teaching me more about strength
than any wannabe giant of any size.

He gave me a giant’s confidence to hold tight to Him
while holding all else in an open hand
– not grabbing,
nor forcing,
but holding out for Him
and His gentleness
that I find invites more
than it commands.

and
        when
        you
        feel
         that
          soft
          gentle
           breeze
           against
           your
           cheek
           just
          know
         it is
        me