look the innocent flower

life is often difficult and the news makes me sad but today I walked around downtown in a small appalachian town and every person I met greeted me with a smile. the barista remembered my name and talked to me about bats when they saw my wallet. they told me to check out a jeweler down the road to see their newest bat themed pieces. the old couple at the art gallery asked what drew me inside and pointed me to ceramics of mushrooms and dragons. the butchers were laughing with one another as I walked in, and one gave me cooking tips with a shine in his eyes when I said I’d never cooked the cut of meat I was picking up before. sometimes the clouds and the sun hang just right in the sky and the whole world seems dipped in sweetness, and my heart feels right and steady in the center of it all

let me be your butterfly. keep my wings pinned forever. the sky seems so small without you

I have so much love to give. I don’t know how. thought this well dried up long ago. but the water gives and gives, and I take and take. I have learned to keep some for myself before I give again. I have learned to give only where and when and how I want, and I’ve found the more I trust my heart, the more it has to offer

she told me she can never sleep. the thoughts don’t stop. “i never slow down.”

i woke to feel her heart beating between my shoulder blades. her gentle breathing. and i knew. i stayed so still for her. when she woke, she said she’d never felt so safe. so still.

i thought, is this love, or is this magic?

i thought, is there a difference?

here i go, cracking myself open again before i’ve even glued myself back together from the last crash.

i am wading into a beautiful, dark sea under a beautiful, bright moon, and i’m not sure if i remember how to swim.

i am full of blood my heart can’t pump fast enough.

i am trying to match the rhythm of my breath to hers. i am trying to keep my head above the water. i am curling so close against her, i could almost sink into her rib cage, nest against her heart. i think i already have

i am writing poems about someone new, like leaving nails sticking up in the floor for me to step on later

she is a burning house and i am walking in with my bucket of water. my wishful thinking. if we could just tame the fire, we could sit in this room and talk again. we could lay side by side. i don’t mind the smoke.

i love strange and chaotic friends who will cut your hair in the kitchen at 2 am.

i love people who knit and make jewelry and paint and write poetry and sing and dance and cook and grow plants. people who pull off on the side of the road to look at a snake. people who like to sit and talk for hours and people who like to sit in silence while you work on separate projects or read. people who fill their lives with passions beyond drinking and watching tv shows, but when they do that they cry during sad scenes.

people who enjoy life despite the horror of living and sometimes because of it. people who let you wear their clothes and sleep in their bed. people who care with their whole selves. i love people.

i’m here to meet people who collect animal skulls they find in the woods and take the time to clean them just to place them on a shelf in an abandoned school as an offering to the ghosts or the gods or no one

i’m here to lay on a blanket and talk to people who keep making art even though their hearts have broken so many times, but they keep mending themselves back together with embroidery thread and clay.

i’m here to say “thank you”, and “your hair looks nice”, and “you remind me of this character…”

i’m here to listen. to learn. to try. i’m here to tell other people i’m glad they’re here, to hear the words echo back to me

i’m glad you’re here too

this june i am a little afraid. so i sit on a porch. i open a window. i say “yes”. i buy a book. i go in the water. i slow my breathe, my steps, my thoughts. i am afraid. but i am alive.

I’m still waiting to find out the truth about us.

did i remember it right? did i imagine it all?

or have i been pulling metaphors, like petals, from our flower of friendship.

i know i worship at the altar of symbols.

velvet, porcelain, lace.

kitchen knives and fire.

wishing your jewels around my neck were your hands, your nails drawing blood.

we were always drawing the moon.

i wish i could draw her down now.

demand an answer.

wish i could ask you for the truth,

but i don’t think you know her yet

i never let myself belong.

am i enough or this? too much of that?

what is there to be proud of?

this ache, yes,

and knowing others feel it too.

i want to know love as more than an ache.

i’m scared i’m loud i’m quiet i’m angry

i’m not who you thought i’d be.

i don’t know who i thought i’d be.

and i’ve stopped saying sorry,

but this isn’t just about me.

because i’ve never been alone.

even when i’ve felt so lonely.