at two and a half years old,
newly adopted, her first home
my cat wouldn't eat
unless I sat with her.
she would lay next to me,
let me hold her in my arms
but didn't trust her world to eat alone
to be in such a vulnerable state
back turned, unguarded.
after all
her history demonstrated, time and time again
that her food would be stolen
she'd have to fight for it
that someone could hurt her
because they did, they had.
two years later
she'll lay next to me
let me hold her in my arms
and eat
even when I'm not there
but some days
she still asks

You call me your dog,
your *****, your fool,
hurling words like stones
to shatter my heart.

I wag my tail anyway,
smiling through trembling lips,
fetching scraps of kindness
from the shadow of your hands.

You call me useless,
a beast beyond learning,
but I only want to please you—
to sit, to stay, to love.

Even as you turn away,
your voice cracking the whip,
I crawl through every wound,
bearing the weight of your name
like a leash around my soul.

For to be your dog
is still to be near you,
and I, the fool,
would bleed to feel you call me mine.

You handed over the pieces
of your life without hesitation
your breath, your time,
your love,
because that’s what you thought love was.
Not once did you think to keep
anything for yourself.
You reached in and revealed
these pieces of yourself over time,
wrapping them in your skin,
your time, your love.

I didn’t need all the pieces
you gave me
those you gave because you thought it was love.
I won’t let you do it.
I cannot.
Regardless of how much you give,
if I am hungry, I will not take
without replenishing what is given.
If I am thirsty, I will not bathe
what is barren in excess.

I, too, will hand over the pieces
of my life,
because, as hard as it is to accept,
the truth is we do not truly own anything.
just enough to feel the space
where the years seem to fly by.
You handed over the pieces
of your life,
and I promise to care for and love them,
because I believe it’s something you just do

She keeps this beast  
Locked inside,  
Feeding it wine
To settle it down.  
When you look at her,  
She looks like she has it  
All together.  
But nobody really knows
What it's like.  
To stay up half the night,  
Clawed from the inside out.
It terrifies her.
Most days she doesn't say a word
And keeps to herself.
To the one she loves,  
If she reveals those pieces  
Of herself,  
Will you stay? Will you go?  
Like everything else that  
She’s lost.
She drinks to keep herself at peace,  
To keep the beast
from growling too loud.  
And for a minute, she forgets about  
Those broken pieces that didn’t  
Heal quite right.
That it's okay to breathe.
Even if it's for a minute.

If you’re reading this,  
She’s afraid  
To let you in.  
That once you’re in,  
You’ll smell those rotten parts  
That hide behind her eyes,
Or that you’ll hear the toenails screech  
Of the beast she keeps subdued,  
That you’ll realize it’s not  
A beast at all.
It’s the part of her that realizes  
The possibility that you cannot  
Love her, without loving the beast.
Those not so good pieces of herself.
Those frazzled insecure pieces
That despite everything she cannot
Control.
And in the end,  
She’ll regret it all if you turn around
And walk away.
No matter how strong the cage.
One of those bars loosens
Everytime she stares at you

You grab my hand, pull me out of the madness.
Take me to that place, where You’re the only face,
I can see. Careful fingers unbraid cherry curls,
draping a tightly-held cardigan, on the anorak’s
open arms. And when I look away, guide my
eyes so they gaze into the aquamarine of Yours.
Planting soft kisses on my barren cheek,
You water me. Talking with a voice far
sweeter-sounding than a lyre. Words draping
over me like velvet, until I find some of
my own. No longer dictated by a script.
Gently peeling back the layers of myself,
you finally find my soul. Once blue, now
Golden-hued, thanks to You.

She unravels herself like a rose  
In the palm of my hand.  
Some of her petals break off  
And lay to the side
The pain of growth,  
Making room for something new.  

She looks me in the eye,  
The tension of letting go  
Of reasonable fear.  
Too many lonely nights.  
The crescent moon of every lie  
Hovers over her head.  

Piece by piece,  
She's laid that insecurity in my hands,  
That uncertainty in her eyes,  
Slowly turning into trust.  
Seeing that I didn’t discard  
The pieces of her that flaked off,  
In my hands.  
Regardless of how bad they look,  
They are a part of her.  

She twists and she turns,  
Her thorns piercing my skin,  
One after another.  
With confidence, I don’t have to tell her  
That I am not afraid.  
But I do so anyway.  

The crescent moon that hangs  
Above her head fills out  
And becomes full.  
As comfortable as she seems,  
Fear still lingers.  
No matter how much she  
Lets go,  
She's been let down before.  

In time, my hands will become  
A vase that will protect her from harm,  
And my heart a place  
That will warm her always.  
When the day comes she knows,  
With certainty, that I am not afraid,  
I will still tell her
I am not afraid

"Ummm... I like you," she said,
her voice a trembling whisper.
Beads of sweat glistened on her brow,
breath uneven,
her heart pounding like fragile thunder.

She stood in quiet stillness,
anticipation pooling in her eyes,
her gaze fixed,

And then, I felt it—
a rush of warmth blooming in my chest,
nerves tangling with wonder,
as if her words were rewriting my very being.

For a moment, time stood still—
and that was when
I felt spring in the winter.