I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.
The most beautiful thing about you is that you is breathtakingly beautiful and that is the least beautiful thing about you.

She said
I’m married for two years.
I have anxiety.
I like watching figure skating

We narrow our life down to sentences.
And we wonder where the past has gone.
What I like most about the sky
Is what I like most about you.

How you hold the stars.
But share it with the rest of us.

You’re the kind of heaven.
That allows visitors.
She said
you are enough. you are loved.
You are
So much of what you fear can
Never be.

She said
There are no mirrors I can
Hold up
For perception once skewed see all
mirrors spotted

Your eyes.
So fickle and short sighted
That you
Can’t see what lays before you
Or just beyond.

A blindness
To all that is beautiful.
You kill hope
Before it may give you
Another chance.
You comment in that kind of
About the heart I wear on my
Except that what’s on my sleeve
Is not my heart
It’s merely it’s
We, unaccustomed to courage
says Maya.
We, who have chosen
with choices we were not aware
of making
as we made them.

we need a revolution.
some courageous warriors
that will lead us into

but the frontline soldiers
never come home.
Maya Angelou, Touched by an Angel.
We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.
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