The unseen, unheard spirit that guides us

does not linger in the pews of a hollow church,
It doesn't commute through the veins of a five-lane highway.

It doesn't nest in the bones of suburbia

or whisper between the teeth of an office cubicle.
It waits where the earth still breathes.

In the gentle songs of a waking bird,

the hush of leaves surrendering to the soil,

the wind’s low hymn through cathedral redwoods,

the autumn air, cold and sharp.
These are the roots that connect us to our home,

woven into marrow, into memory.
But I tore myself from the earth,

uprooted from my lover, my tribe, my sanctuary in the sleepy woods,

chasing gold that turned to dust in my hands.
I just pray the ground will take me back.

I don’t wish to be your keeper,
only to stand beside you, safe in love.
But why did everything shift so suddenly?
Was it really as sudden as it seemed,
or had the change been locked away,
poison pricked, creeping slowly through your veins?

Everything was so bright.
I had a place.
I had a home.
I had a boy I thought was my own.

But am I bound to these chains forever?
Will my past continue to stain my future?
Have I already lost my chance at love?

I carry fragments of every version of myself.

A scared kid, alone, waiting in a car,
the world just beyond the window,

a quiet ache in my chest.

A troubled teen,

fingers trembling,

seeking solace in the burn of tobacco.

A young adult,

locked in a cage I built,

controlled by the world and its expectations.
But in the stillness of all these lives I've lived,

I’ve never surrendered.

I’ve learned how to survive.

I’ve fought battles, against myself, against the world,

I've been knocked down more times than I can count,
But I always get up.
I still work,

a slow, steady progress,

never perfect,

but always moving forward.

More.
More, more, more!

Is it always wrong to long for more?

I know what I want, I know what I need,

It’s right there, within my reach,

Tugging at its sleeve,

My eyes devour it greedily,

Soaking in my desire.
Please, give it to me

I can’t bring myself to take it.

Let the bones from my back turn to dust and fertilize the soil,
Let the ichor of my husk water the moss and ferns,
Let the hair on my head be given to the birds for their nest,
Let them make a home from my hollow skull,
Let the heart, still in my chest, be nourishment for the foxes,
Let it all return, not as it was, but as it is meant to be.

Her touch was sickly sweet poison,
Formaldehyde, cold and suffocating.

Her fingers left a trail of bad decisions
 a path I still fight to undo.
Her eyes bored into me, hungry for a taste,

and I, unguarded, reluctantly let her consume me.
She lives inside me now,

in the restless need I can’t shake,

in the cravings I never asked for,

in the lust I fight to control.
She led me down this path,

through shadows of hypersexuality,

and I wonder if you feel anything now.

Do you ******* pain,

the part of me you left behind?

I hope you hate yourself,

the way I’ve learned to hate what you made me become.

I want to be nowhere special,

with no one special.

Our home, just walls and quiet rooms,

our cars, worn but dependable,

our bank accounts simple,

our clothes, nothing to boast about.

Our food, plain and comforting,

our jobs, unremarkable but steady,

our phones, just tools for connection.
But in the midst of it all,

we will be something quiet,

something real.
We will be enough,

without ever needing to be special.