Let it be the Mountain she finds Holy—
not because it sparkles
or sings
or speaks in riddles,

but because its dark loamy soil
receives her bare feet like a memory.

A prairie hill above the sea,
where grasses bow and whisper,
and the wind carries the salt and scent of things
too old for names—
that’s where the house stands.
Not built from stone,
but from time.
And longing.

And the laughter of those
who once remembered Eden.

Let her dig down,
as if the roots of a wildflower
were waiting to rise through her skin,
lifting her slowly from within—
the stem, the pistil,
the fragile yet indestructible bloom.
Let the soil speak to her in silence,
saying:

You are still loved.
You are still alive.
You are not what happened to you.

Let her turn toward the sun—
not in shame,
but in radiant defiance—
and know in that moment
where her help truly comes from.

Let her running to the mountain
be joy, not dread.
Let her ascent be not an exile,
but a return.

Let her wings unfold brazenly,
as the daughter of the living God.
Not tucked.
Not hidden.
Not compromised.

She does not belong to the mountain that mocks love
and feeds on the ruin of hearts.

She belongs here—
where her own flesh and bone
become not only family
but friend,
through the common bond
of the soil that gives life to all who dare to sink into it.

She belongs
where peace lives in warm light on cold nights,
where cotton sheets smell of soap and skin,
and starlight sifts through trees
like the hush of forgiveness.

Let her remember her first love..
before the theft,
before the theater.
Before the wound.

Let her toes remember
what it was to wiggle in the dirt
of something unbroken,
unshamed,
true.

Let her find home again—
not in a place carved out for her,
but in the space she reclaims
with her own rootedness.

Let her petals unfold slowly in the sun—
but only with her feet deep in the mountain's soil,
where others also have planted their lives,
becoming one
in harmony of breath and memory and Grace.

She will not enter into a sepulcher.
She will stand on the mount before the rising sun—
alone if she must,
but never abandoned.

And somewhere in the hush between
the breeze and the soil,
she may yet feel

the quiet echo
of someone still with her.

The things we left unsaid,
When our eyes locked together,
When your cigarette smell filled my bed,
My soul didnt want to leave, never.

How hot you felt at 3am,
My shoulder warm, my hand dead,
So many thoughts spiraling in my head,
My pupils dilated, I needed you in my bed.

So many workshops, many stories told,
How you beat up a guy, fiercely bold,
Your words bullets to set a load,
Ready to fire at me on the side of the road.

8 years difference, too big to think of,
Too tall to dance, too far to love,
Two hands to hold, one shoulder to shove,
One man in lust, the other a dove.

Wish, pray and manifest,
Eat, drink and confess,
Love and hate, never rest,
Cry because you’ll never love me,
Even at my best.

Hold my hand, my dear,
We have time before we dissapear,
My eyes look at you crystal clear,
Your pupils dilate to someone near.

I sleep with a heavy heart every night,
Your cigarette in your hands, lit every blight.
Sun rays can hit my bed sheets,
But, its in those sheets,
Where our hearts could meet.
If only you had wet thoughts about our greet.

It’s at the first time where my heart was let free,
It curdled up when it found out we werent meant to be,
You liked women, I liked men,
Yet my heart was so brittle then,
I already had our story planned out,
With a paper,
and a pen.

I drink in manipulation,
My soul bathes in it.

I love it like water,
Need it to breathe.

So keep it coming,
Keep on using me.

I'll never say goodbye,
Until I die.

When your heart breaks,
(Because they always do)
Don't let a spider sew it back together,
(They always want to)
If you open your doors,
(Which you die to do)
All that other love,
You'll lose.

Never love an artist,
They don't have beauty left to give you.

You love me,
I try to give you all my beauty,
Though it curdles, turning into a night we regret.

Leaving you upset.

It burns, it gnaws, it tears away
This passion that, in my heart
Has made its unwanted stay
There are those who say that
To be free of it, there is a way

This way is not the one I chose
And now I mourn my lost repose
Foolishly I fanned the flame
What before had been an ember
Has now become a blaze

This blaze, it grows and grows
For my indulgence is its bellows
And the only way to **** this fire
To turn ashen what still glows
Is to extinguish my desire

This desire, oh this blazing fire
How I wish I could outrun it
But it never seems to tire
Onerous shackle that it is
Pulling me to the abyss

We sit closely at the table,
Sharing conversations about nothings
Full of friends and strangers combined,
The band begins to play
Your hand grazes mine,
You stand up tall to ask
I step, stride in gentle procession,
Your hand possessed by mine

You turn to me,
Two equals pressing slightly
Eyed but not staring,
Hungry but not starving
I rest my palm on your broad shoulder,
Feeling your familiar fingers tips gently grasping my hip

Your body whispers to mine,
Pushing it in rhythm
I respond to your queuing,
Touching your face and lips when wanting

Guiding not insisting,
Vulnerable and respected
Two people working together,
Towards a partnership perfected

They left,
The world moved,
And silence sat beside me
Not as a punishment,
Bt as a reminder:
I am all I need.

Your words were small,
but they split me open-
quiet knives
dressed as truth.

I carried your words
like glass under skin-
invisible,
but cutting every time I moved.

Every syllable,
a small death I swallowed
just to stay close.

I bled in silence
so you wouldn’t hear
what you’d done.

I’ve never healed right
from the sound
of your voice
telling me
I wasn’t enough.