Someone stained the sweater
So you soak it into the water
it's clean and wearable
that's how you feel

She wears you recklessly
and you remain calm
keep her warm
suffer the same stains
over and over

Acceptance
I'm a ball of yarn
no, that's not right
I'm a sweater to her
scarf for the mother
socks for the baby
hat for the lover
blanket for the stranger

Acceptance
A ball of yarn is useless
yet the strands come together
Grandma knits and knits and knits
and you find use
in comforting another

Could I be accepted
even when I am not a comfort
Always moving and improving
yet remaining the same to the ones I love
death comes for us all
and before it does
I want to live
To not be a means to everyone's end
To be selfish sometimes
And to feel loved
Don't you want to live
and still be accepted
(I do)
~M

You remind me of me
I can feel all the hate surface
the pain that I buried
(it has since grown roots and leaves)
I don't wish to face it
yet I must
so I try
to open windows
show you the thunder and lightning
and you run the other way
but now it rains in your bedroom
and you lay cold on the couch
stare at the ceiling
blame me for ever opening a window
Like the weight of the roof was held together
by its broken glass

You push me away
but you remind me of me
and I cannot stop hating
the love I carry for you (and me)
the parallels are drawn

I have known this
The desire to leave everything
and run far away
but where can you run to
when the ceiling is a thunderstorm
and it rains outside your window
(you can't)

you sleep in puddles of your losses
and I simply watch
wishing you didn't remind me of me
hoping you will learn to let the sun in
repair the roof in days to come
and somehow I will not hate
the part of me
that loves you

meeting you was serendipity
it's practical to move on
live my life
focus on the task at hand
yet my soul yearns for you
and you embody me
like you and I are the same being

a search has come to an end
our souls rejoice
while the bodies sleep in cold beds
I do not understand the loss
of you (or me), dear stranger

So I simply write about
how my soul yearns for you
and how painful it must be
for you to not know the language
of our souls (of love)

It's funny
You would think
Your sharp edges
would scrape my skin
and hurt me
poison me with a charm
that I can't resist
you worry about the blood
on my skin

I have held sharp edges
and cut myself enough times
to find my veins coiled in infinite directions
tormented my skin for long enough
that any scrape
(you may give)
heals instantly

If you ever could
cut me open
and reach my soul
you would find the scars
symbolic of my countless victories

I suffer from the love I gave myself
for long enough to become whole again
You look at me and you see elegance
someone who has not known the bitterness of the world

Yet you cannot see the hell
tamed in my basement
it now exists like a fire that burns large enough to keep me warm

I understand,
it is difficult to comprehend
the seismograms of the earthquakes
that came before you
the breaking apart of a home that you didn't see
how I held together this body
like porcelain waiting to reach the floor
fought the wind and the chaos
-now unbreakable-
I do not let it on
I exist hushed like a calm lake
I stand peacefully
As the rage rests under the surface
and you awaken it
-testing the waters you say-
but you get swallowed as soon as the waves approach

There is so much that exists in a human
your barbed self does not know the courage it takes
to be damaged for so long
that one day you decide to become your cure
You run towards an unknown
for long enough and you find yourself
drowning, burning, breaking
and then you glue it together
like you are an artistic remedy

I am not foolish
I am the catastrophe that was
the survivor of the storm
the courageous soldier that lives on
it's bewitching you
Yet you are afraid
of hurting me?
(such naivety)

You don't understand
(the emptiness within you)
You wonder, how strange it is
for me to be so untroubled
with your knives
still in my skin
I exist, in your mind
(with my fire and my grace)
like a gift from the gods
and your failure to worship it
is a fragility
that breaks porcelains
fault lines that bring about earthquakes
and you stand till the wreck of you
becomes large enough
to awaken the desire to heal

I cannot help you
so i hope
someday when you have fought the hell
and as the battle comes to rest
you will understand
the magic of it all

For the longest time
I have tried finding home
in a person

Someone you can hold
and feel at ease

But people aren't home
they are just human
and home is a thing you build
with the love you have

the sanctuary you create
with what you can give
rather than what you can take

and its true what they say
It takes a lifetime
to create that

then you welcome someone else
hoping they won't take the furniture apart
bring love
and hold it together with you
(like concrete)
and pray
that good days are ahead

- that is how to live/love

Inadvertently
it happens
you glide your hand along the table
and the ceramic
b r e a k s
except it is not the ceramic
it is my heart
it suffers from the lack of
'handle with care'

you leave the pieces on the floor
I neatly glue them together
and now it is a decor piece
it's golden scars
are a beauty
and the ceramics burden
is nothing but disbelief in it's capacity to hold

it used to hold something
i forget now what it was
like I forgot about
an apology that never came
forgave the moving of your hand across a table
and the walking away of your feet

Forgiveness is a cruel invention
because even the rot in your soul
is blessed with all the love
that I have to offer
how inhuman.
or divine?
or devilish?
~M