a shimmering lightness
of white rolls playfully
across the tips of
slender bladed greenery
the delicate dancing of
that yet-to-be-mown grass
grown long beyond
what building aesthetics
          should permit
a gentle play of
low-lying sun
glanced upon frosted
and thawed alike
the cold breath of wind
ruminating between
a delicate breeze or
          those chilling gusts
harsh yet homely
while blanketed in
the warmth of
this merino wool
even the bitterest of
winter mornings will
feel nothing but
picturesque

The **** does it really?
The **** does it all mean?
To caren’t oh so freely,
To not aim to read in between.

The **** is this monstrosity?
The **** does this represent?
This self-aware precocity,
Diving and thriving in its own lament.

Possessions stemmed from possessiveness,
Losses that led to lenience,  
No ***** to give and not a **** to lose,
Too many have come and went.

The **** does it matter, truly?
The **** should it matter to me?
These thinking caps are on too tight,
I’ll embrace this coldness cruelly.

Not to say that I am so daft,
This emulation of me is unflattering,
I’ve come to love this newfound craft,
The ***** become irrelevant when they stop mattering.

Do you know me?
Do I know you?
What secrets do you embrace?

I have my pleasures,
My little treasures.
I wonder if I am the only one?

They're not to be hidden,
Nor are they forbidden.
They're just mine. My secrets.

For example,
Do you like to dance crazily with music loud?
Do you do art, paint, draw, create?
Do you go for a walk late at night?
Do you sit in your room and contemplate?
Or do you think about who would win, superman or batman?
Do you feel sad? Do you feel happy? Do you have a secret anger that burns you?
Or are people as plain as they look upfront?
What is it that you do that you hold dear, near and out of fear you keep inside?

I wonder. Am I the only one with secrets that no-one knows?
Why do I hold them so close? To make them feel like mine.
What am I afraid of, That if someone knew my secrets, they would no longer be secret?
Why does this make it feel special? If no-one knows about them?
If they were known, it would no longer be enjoyable.
Is it for the lack of judgement that I tell no soul I know?
Or is it to keep it mine and by sharing it, it is no longer mine to share?
Is it my secret and do you have any you want to contribute?
Then it will be our secret.

At times I wish I didn't care
and didn't feel anything too deep
but if i refused to care at all
I wouldn't be here, I wouldn’t be me.

Many things I see, I find pre-defined
A darkness is left, the kids aren’t alright
Yet within the chaos, the shot of hope gleams
A chance for redemption, before the final dream.

My love unveils both joy and sorrow
A kaleidoscope of emotions for today and tomorrow
Even in depths of despair, resilience rises
Shadows and trials end with silver-lined surprises.

To feel deeply is my way to truly live
A tapestry weaves the stories I have to give
For even in shadows, my light does grow
My heart guides me to what the truth knows.

So I seek to embrace the highs and lows
Through my rivers of tears, a garden grows
In vulnerability, I find a reality
Worthy of bonding with all humanity.

You are burdened
By time,
Your presence is unknown.
But what matters,
My lover,
Is how you grow.

Don’t fret,
Or try to forget
Of a time felt alone.

Be still,
My lover,
For a heartache is known.

But time ,
By your side,
Will guide your way home.

There are no limitations. You
Receive help that
You never accepted.
It now encircles you.
By an outstretched hand.
No one bites it off.
Acceptance received.

The sun directly investigates
Any unwillingness
To not accept change. Bringing a pinch of new light.

Who would you have to be
Stepping into the
Other side?
Finding you are truly good enough.
That any other connection
From limiting beliefs
Unravels, like opening a pomegranate. One seed thinks it's all alone,
not seeing all the others encased in their own restrictions.
What if it were the perfect time? The full ripe fruit.

You are the right age! This is the perfect time!

What if the opposite were true?
What would you do? Even if a part of you did not believe it?

Bathe hence your confining insistences.
What is in your skyline? Your oceans horizon?
Supplied with new resources, a deliberate inventory, of unrestricted beliefs, if the opposite were true?
Then who would you have to be
To make it unmistakable?
Who would I want to be
If the opposite were true? Now, only now, as a matter of time.

gardening has taught me a gentleness that no parent ever could.
the way my hands work roots apart to make space for new dirt
shows me that i have the capacity to be soft, even when
the world has given me an exoskeleton of impenetrable emotion.

i have days where i can’t imagine doing anything except laying in the dark, but my plants need the sun just as much as i do.

there’s this appreciation of small things that comes with gardening, this ability to notice even the tiniest changes.
cheering on the little new leaf of a plant that hadn’t grown anything in months. flowers blooming to prove you’ve done a good job.

the world is dissolving but they just keep on growing.

there are snapdragons outside my window and though the cold weather killed the rest of my garden, they are thriving. pushing out the brightest colors i’ve seen all season.
nothing will work for every plant, the care i provide is vastly different even among two that sit next to each other on the shelf.
nothing will work for every person.

the gentleness i’ve learned keeps my hands soft towards others, like when i put bandaids over scratches or zip up dresses or intertwine our fingers.

we could all stand to learn something from nature. how forgiving it can be, how gracious, how bright. flowers are what we wish on, representations of the best and worst moments of our lives. our successes, our losses.

nothing is forever, but god does nature sure last a while.