a new path

I would like to carve a new path through stone
Stone they haven’t blasted a tunnel through yet
I would like to carve a new path that wouldn’t be perfectly smooth
But there would be a sureness in the way forward
Not a slide but a slope
It would be too dark to look behind
Too dark to see the other side
But a solidity underneath, sand
no longer clinging
Bottoms of my feet flat against the red earth.

slinky

What would I be if I didn’t lose myself in you?
They say I’m supposed to start seeing myself through my own eyes.
You rub up against me and leave
Stains

It’s strange when I glimpse the being with my name
And recognize how much she’s aching, forget a pillow
I’ve given her gravel to sleep on and black mud to walk in
She doesn’t really know what it’s like not to
Slink

She’s been healing for so long and she’s also just begun.

widely

Sometimes when the wrong color is on the wrong cap, I think about eating preschool lunch at the State Fair and the ex who overpopulates my dreams, I don’t want to be holding myself back, comparing sole-focused types or easily drunken types, my neither abyss leaves me drowsy for days and in between wildly alive, rarely satisfied, the good kid in me clarified, I chew through calm for something beating, it’s a rhythm only I’m good at repeating, trusting the things that slip away, and those that won’t unstuck, it’s hard to get off a ride when it’s fun, but when you throw up, whether you like it or not, you’re done, notified ending, I’m not sure I need the world to watch this transitioning digging for genuine in a sandbox.

***

When I was a child
in between the oozey stickiness
leaks and holey door screens
there was something sharp in my experiencing
a freshness, an unfolding
at the same time, everything was permeating into me
there was no shell for my soft body
I didn’t even know a shell was possible
So I shrunk away eating
a lot that wasn’t mine
some was beautiful
most made my belly ache
hard to trust that this would slip away
it was constant cycling
When I finally found those who gazed
at me with understanding
it was the unfolding
I could see more clearly
gentle dirt to walk on
tears fell
an embrace
a steady unwinding
I worked hard not to blur the lines
I’m still working
there is so much more space between my aches now
a bright ribbon unraveling, I’m ready to follow
believing the possibility of living widely
with fresh softness.

a redirection

Cruising down this lifeway
wondering if it’s possible not to go so fast
bouncy castles deflated now

i can see that ache inside of you

wondering how to do it right
i ask myself big questions
i give myself big answers
not an answer but a direction
taking further sweeps than before
i’m still humbled by my limitations
the fragility of the human condition
beats inside of me

some days I don’t feel solid enough

some days all I can do is take these harsh
colonial words
and try to make something

some days I am squashed into a wooden pew –
is this holy?

some days I feel like a stick burning
burning down to the bone
burning at the disrespect for the seasons
forest fires, floods
the darkness during day
the global warming
my belly wants to expand, to take it all in
to not think so much

it tugs at me so much

life exploding in layers, praying for a pace I can handle
love consistent and strong, lessons still learning
missed opportunities in conversation still, longing

it’s your pain that makes you beautiful

i wonder about these unrealized dreams
about the way that we tiptoe across the different levels
and what people do in their darker moments
i wonder about coping
and the particular qualities
that keep them trying

we are on fire
and yet we constantly work to stifle our own flames

what if we let ourselves expand
and redirected this water, sacred
to where it was needed.

stale

What to do with the orange
You’ve left so long on your desk
For weeks it looked so fresh
I almost wanted to take it
And peal into the juicy
Softness

I’d eat away its loneliness
If it wasn’t for propriety
Now the skin a molted brown
Hardness

Sweetness sucked out
There’s something about the neglect
That makes me want to shake things
Want to go into your office
And stroke it, poor thing
If it wasn’t for propriety

It’s not like I haven’t been leaving papers
Out to organize for months now.