Knees rug-burnt on the carpet
praying for freedom one day
in your high school body
and your high school face
caked with wet mascara
searching for someplace
that is home
but where is home?
Will you ever know what that is?
You don’t belong here
so you thought:
“I belong nowhere.”
No wine to quench
how parched you are
for acceptance
so hungry
for independence
you thought you were praying to god
but you were praying to me.
As the creator of your destiny—
how rich you life will be.
In your woman body
with your woman face
my god
my force
how gorgeous is your vessel now
to grow into your soul
reaching up into the sky
like redwoods, sycamores—
ever-growing so divine.
Embrace your unbelonging
so much, that you’ll belong
to everyone and
everywhere like
wind and air and water
and I heard your sobs of yearning
egg-shaped on the floor
begging for some glimmer
some proof that there is more
but you need this storm
to crack you open
you need this pain
you need disaster
so you can bring those shards together.
The pointy pieces hurt, I know
like countless shrapnel splinters
but bit by bit
you’ll dig them out
and fill the wounds with earth…
when harvest comes,
you’ll be so humbled
by how much it was worth
and instead of praying
to a man-made god
for the shackles to release—
the world folds with all your thanks
as you bring it to its knees.

The other day I told someone about you
what you left for me
what you left of me
their wet stone tone replied: I’m so sorry
and like a sprout through concrete
so instinct and automatically
I told them: don’t be.
I’m not.
Because
there are no words
for gifts this big
what you taught me
what you brought me
in our innocence like daisies
how your sacrifice had saved me
better than Christ himself
anyone can say
my lover
anyone can say
my partner
anyone can say
heartache
and break
and suffer.
But for me—I know it’s real.
Far beyond what children feel.
We learned what
passion was,
what freedom was,
what making love was
as if we were human
and nothing else
as if being human
was enough
and when you stopped
being human
the world didn’t notice
night fell
dawn broke
and how I tantrumed in contortions
in rebellion of this earth
to be so brash
betraying me
to keep turning, turning, turn.
And I learned that living takes effort
even just to breathe
and eat
and move
and speak
I wished my ribs would splinter
wished the cars would halt their noise
and every morning
I would touch myself
and pray I’d hear your voice
and the sensation
of forgetting
the way you sound and smell
was a wicked type of torture
—it’s own dynasty of hell.
You’re just as incomparable
as the pain you left behind
and how living was unbearable
and yet, somehow, I survived.
I couldn’t follow you
for the honor of our love
for the wittiness to the horrors
and all the pain that I had felt—
I needed it.
It’s my evidence, my proof.
I was a runner—not a warrior.
A deserter—not a soldier.
Yet, I learned trust
and kindness
bravery beyond—
birthed in ashes of despair
I bloomed into something else.
And that something is so pure
even moreso than our love.
Patient. Understanding.
I am gentle and I’m strong.
I am wise and I am generous.
All the things I didn’t have to be
until you were gone and out.
Wish you could see me now.
And what your death had brought me—
is so much more profound
than anybody’s life
and I know it’s strange to say,
but I’m not angry at you anymore.
I’m glad you got away.
Because I always have you,
and I’m more beautiful like this.
Overcoming losing you—
the most amazing thing I did.
And I don’t need your voice, or scent,
to remember how to love
out of all we learned together;
being human is enough.

I’ve awoken
in cars
off a shoulder
overlooking the sea
started my day
with morphine
and coffee
and vomit on the street
I’ve awoken
in deserts
under one single tree
beside strangers
on carpets
slipped away quietly
I’ve driven til shadows
melt into sands
and the stars bleed
into purples and pinks
when cold weather
has dried out my hands
and I’m too hungover
to speak
I’ve awoken
in twin beds
in distant lands
with lillies draping my canopy
with no one around
to marvel at scenery
with me
throughout this wide world
all my wheel’s quick rotations
all the planes
and the trains
and the rides
from London’s Heathrow
to Grand Central Station
every dawn
I’ve awoken
to rise
everyday is impeccable
all the struggles
and pain
so delectable
as the earth
flips through the slides
in my eyes a
projection of beauty
the greatest adventures
the prefect day
is the day
I’m alive
and I live it
and seize it—no matter the risk
perfection is this
what we all
wake up with
this wonderful gift
all scared and excited
to be welcome; invited
to live for the sake of living
to rise and to fall
to feel love and
feel lost
and the awe to awaken—
awaken at all.

Dear Flower Girl,
Love is the warm mud
your ran through
with bare feet.
Love is woven
in the synthetic threads
of lavender silk.
In the weedy bouquets
you would leave
on neighbors doorsteps.
Sticky curls chewed with baby teeth.
How time-out was just more time
to daydream.
And when anger shook the house,
your magic made cupcakes
that shrunk you down
to hide in photographs with safer strangers.
Your tawny flesh could melt into the earth
Disappear inside a circle of mushrooms.
And all the angels and Fae would whisk you away—
the way the dawn exhales over the dewy mist
is the way your innocence wrapped you.
Immune to hatred
Blind to greed
So tender to the saplings and baby-things.
As if all of nature was a mermaid’s mirror
and you wanted to help everyone
with synthetic threads
and warm mud.

Dear Fair Maiden,
Love is the adhesive
that binds the heel
to your platform.
In the body beneath your tube dress.
Skin so fertile
moss could sprout from your pores.
Your flirty laugh
others would glance at;
sensing it
like expensive perfume
Smells wet and hot.
You teased them all
Made them squirm.
Teetered in the twilight
between summer and autumn.
Between playtime and foreboding.
A mysterious temptation
all apex predators grow into
from being wild for too long.
With a fickle, feather-light weight
dancing from
one shade of red
to the next.
Leave a trail of black pepper and rose and
breadcrumbs of lovers
who search for your shadow
under their pillow.
As if trying to catch a clever crow.
Even your evilness is love—
those fearless talons dig into life
squeeze the prey out of everything.
Remind them what life is.
Leave them panting.

Dear Medicine Woman,
Love is the taproot
that spreads and sprawls
below your feet.
The deep network of
your steadfastness.
Down
with all the centipedes and mycelium.
In the heart of the earth
where goddesses are born.
You are one with it all:
daughter, maiden, mother.
How her joy bubbles with
mineral baths and
songbirds in December.
Each is a present
she graces you with.
Every spark celebrates
the brilliance
you’ve become.
I cannot love the earth
without loving you
The womb of the universe
in every breath you draw.
Brave and beautiful
Wise as willow
Bear the harvest full of fruits
Use your mortar to make medicines
Turn little girls to flower girls
Give the mountain to the maiden
and spread the seeds around your home.
Cradling her young
Forgiving her shadow
Delicate as lace and strong as oak.
Sweet lady, I love all of you
Until love is shown in the bones of your hands
and your skin is dust.
All that is forever—
the reminders life is kind,
the lessons love is hard,
the bouquets on the doorstep,
the hearts that churn at night.
From the baby-bud
to the ancient tree—
and all that’s in between is
the gift that is you.