#guesthouse
I still miss you.
Sometimes I wonder if you miss me
As much as I dream that you do.
If I am even a second thought, if you miss
Anything about me period.
I don’t think I’ve ever squeezed you as tight as I do than when I dream.
When I am sleep, everything feels real.
The feel of your skin.
The way the small of your back raises
When you breathe.
Your hair a mess, barely holding on to the pillow.
Apparently dreams are the guest house to prayers.
Missing you hurts like hell, lying awake
In angst, not being able to enjoy the moment In full.
I don’t think I’ve ever squeezed you as tight as I do than when I dream,
Your head in the cease of my arm.
I am not ready to wake up yet,
I am not ready for you to go.
Not ready for you to disappear.
When I dream,
Every word we say is silent
& your heart beats next to mine.
You snuggle up close to me &
Everything in you just releases.
Just let me sleep a while longer,
I still feel safe when you’re around
I still miss you when you’re not around
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:19 AM UTC
Turn off the music,
stop that constant doing.
Look it in its bloodied teeth:
This broke us.
This was far too much.
We don't know how to be a person after this.
We can't even seem
to comb our hair.
All we have now
are all these pieces.
We kneel in the shards,
and feel the remnants cut,
and wail about our scarred images
and cancelled plans.
We don't know what to do
when we're shattered,
but maybe if we can just
feel this breaking,
without lusting for
the once-virgin whole,
we can grow quiet enough
to hear the laughter:
for the neighbor kids
have already begun
stringing our pieces
into bracelets that say Love.
An old man is scattering
our fragments in the park.
People delight
as the pigeons descend.
A salesman peddles our scraps
door to door, and makes enough
to finally pay the bill
that turns the lights back on.
A tailor makes a sweater
of our mistakes, while a baker
turns our heartbreaks into bread
for a different kind of breaking.
Come to the window,
these new friends call.
See what our brokenness has become.
Our pieces are raining from the sky
and quenching this parched earth.
People are dancing in the streets.
Close your eyes and listen
to the laughter and the rainfall
of what our pieces teach.
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
A lovely sunny day
Out of the window
lined by wood, painted white
Marvelous guest house
filled with mystery, personality
style and history.
I feel good
One quiet morning
A new day begins.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC