I plant another garden; sow seeds and pips.
Dirt stains my knees and my fingertips.
I go inside, escape the all-seeing sun
and erase any trace of ***** work I've done.
I don't know why
my hands are raw and dry.
Cracking at the seams of my skin,
revealed myself to be wrist-deep in sin.
I planted my garden, but at what cost?
What flowers grow when the gardener is lost?

Teach young girls that they can say "No,"
to situations that make them uncomfortable.
Don't force them to hug someone they barely know
even if you know them well.
Teach young girls they can say "Yes,"
to situations that make them curious.
That they don't have to sacrifice their own happiness
for someone else.
Teach young girls that they can say "I'm sorry,"
but only when they actually mean it.
To assert themselves when they've been wronged
and to recognize when they were wrong.
Teach young girls to say "I'm worthy,"
no matter what path they choose in life.
Whether it's to be a doctor, an artist, a scientist, a wife
whatever it may be, let them decide.

Teach young girls to say "No."
And teach little boys to accept it.

I tell my secrets to children
in the form of fairy tales
A "Once upon a time," is enough
to quiet down their wails
and I spin stories as well as spiders
weaving webs that a lost child
must navigate the tangled trails
with cleverness and wit
sharper than any sword
more accurate than any arrow
I speak of children who questioned
the established path of rejection
and this misguided idea of reciprocity,
"You must suffer because it happened to me."
Because my blessing in life was not brute strength
but a clear mind and clever tongue.
I tell my secrets to children
so that they may grow smarter because of them.

"How are you doing?"
those words pierced through my coat
bypassing the buttons that I didn't notice were open
until he spoke them
How I froze words intended to warm
into a pointed intrusion meant to warn
me of my icy exterior
It jabbed at my heart like icicles
pressed into the wound that throbbed and pulsed
He maintained eye contact when he asked
and my eyes were wide
with weariness I couldn't truly hide
but I could disguise
"I'm doing well and you?"
I replied to the man holding a stop-sign
my voice pleasant like springtime
when the wind rustled green-leafed trees
during the early sunrise
and the morning doves sang a sweet melody
covering up my shivering heart
"I'm doing good," he said
and nodded his head
in response to my quiet 'thank you'
he waited until I crossed the small street
eyes at my back, tracking my slow, steady steps
and when I got to the other side
I paused for my crossing guard said one more thing
"I hope you have a good day!"
and I said with a smile too bright, "You too,"
and went on my way
marching through the bright, winter day
hoping that this road would just take me away
Just take me away

I sit on my front steps with a camera and listen to the leaves
As they slide across rough concrete
Like the wind has secrets to keep
If I listen I may decipher what’s dear.
Leaves carry notes of love long lost
Letters meant for hands that can no longer hold.
I pick one up and trace its veins
and listen to the message it contains.
Regrets for time not spent
now the currency is valueless.
Updates of the present
a simple gift to the past.
Notes about plans
now cancelled eternally.
Some leaves dry up and get crushed,
some bear the marks of words rushed,
But not a single one lacks love.
Not a single one lacks love.
I capture moments with a click and a shutter.
Preserve the memories so I won’t lose them in the clutter
Of a desk covered in papers and pens.
With drawings of a time I can barely comprehend.
Why is holding a leaf like holding your hand?
A fragile, weightless being, supported by the wind.
I don’t want to let go and see you
taken away again.
No, I must remember
the time that we shared.
When leaves were a beauty
pointed out on forest trails.
Find comfort in the memories
Captured by cameras and pens
There is a beauty in every
beginning and end.
I can whisper that to the leaves
send them like a letter I penned
And maybe when the wind delivers
it to those ghostly hands
We'll know it's been read.
I know I won't know
until I see you again.
Whispers in the wind
Until I see you again
and receive leaves
from the messenger wind.

I'll tell a tale of a heart that wants
a place to sit and rest
where it can relax from a brain's taunts
slow its beating in a chest
that's locked up tight buried in the sands
of a beach the picture of paradise
people dig for it with trembling hands
can't obtain the chest though they paid the price
of searching for a treasured heart
that wishes diggers will take a break
A heart beats though it wants to depart
how much more hate can it take?

Higher functions demand a heart to beat
it continues to hurt beneath diggers' feet.

I bit my lip so I won't speak
chewed it up so my words won't peek
out with my tongue. Mouth shut, I keep
my voice to myself even when I weep.
I'm on the ground like a trembling dove
being cut with scissors wielded with love.
They clipped my words
like wings of birds.
Held those feathers to the light
and ordered them to take flight.
Then laughed when I stilled on the concrete
and nudged my broken wings with their feet.