Write Something Already…

  • Telling Family My Partner is Nonbinary

    again
    defend them again
    push against your        discomfort

    they
    them

    words of respect          the very least

    i've lost

    family//over the way they love me//
    the way you don't love//without reiterating brokenness
    their's
    even your own//though you still know     better       

    i defend        them       again
    you reiterate
    brokenness//i don't see//
    see the whole in front of you//you can't account for

    they
    them

    i've lost family//
    over the way they love me//
    but they love

    , , , ,

  • If Today Were My Last

    I would've suggested a walk, 
    smiled at the perfect fall air 
    slipped my hand 
    through your arm 
    crossing the street, 
    I would've turned around 
    while you fixed your shoe, 
    named the shadows "every day", 
    I would've listened 
    to your stories from teaching
    and wondered how those kids 
    got so lucky

    If today were my last
    I would've noticed the light
    on your skin, taken a photo
    next to the green couch

    I would've told you my thoughts
    on god, how I wish
    I could know the unknown

    If today were my last
    I would've still spent it with you
    , , , , ,

  • If Someone Were to Offer Their Prayers

    If someone were to offer their prayers for me,
    though reluctant

    I would ask for answers. 
    for a doctor who knows more about my body
    than the last fifteen I have seen

    I would ask for a future
    at least seven years longer, where I don’t wonder
    how clearer I could describe pain

    I would not ask for “eyes to see”
    I already have those
    many times over

    I would ask for boredom 
    for more time in my day to enjoy
    all the things that make it perfect

    I would ask for poetry
    inside of a body,
    even one void of answers.
    , , ,

  • Doubt

    I felt alive on the mountain— 
    named it God
    felt comfort around my tears— 
    named it God

    they keep promising God     here

    I remember the moments
    without blankets or endorphins—
    I named them hoping

    I wanted God—
    can’t say I didn’t want you, God

    but I don’t know love
    that won’t speak back;
    at least try
    to speak clear

    I keep seeing light
    wondering who it belongs to;
    still crying in the shower
    when I think of you
    still crying under covers
    when I think of me     hoping

    (they keep promising love	here
    but they’re not here     either)
    , , , ,

  • If I Could Write Well…

    If I could write well these days, I would write about my loneliness and depression. I would write about this last year and everything I wanted it to be, and all the ways it’s disappointed me. All the ways I’ve disappointed it. I’d write about everything I’ve lost – and everyone. I’d write about how I keep trying to hold on, keep trying to create. And well, how nothing is coming out right. I’m not “still standing”, as some like to say. I’m sitting and lying around, for days now, cause COVID sucks and Christmas is hard enough without the threat of spreading infection. Winter is just starting, and the future, well…I don’t know what the future holds, but I’ve learned not to hold my breath. I’ve learned not to wait around for the life you want to come find you. But all I can do is wait around. I have no energy for anything else. I sit and watch the snow fall through dead trees and imagine I am one of the snowflakes falling to the cement to melt as soon as it lands. At least there would be movement. Transition. If I could write well I’d turn all of it into a beautiful metaphor about grief and loss and the hope of new life. But I haven’t written anything good all year.

    , ,

  • Listening

    They are all listening
    with ears that really
    hear each line rolling
    into the next,
    connecting together, everything
    like a good story does;
    they notice the nuance, the cadence, 
    the literary references,
    repeat them back, the lines, the words
    (I don’t know how to spell) with ease
    with detailed accounts of their own experience listening
    and I try 
    to keep up
    notice the spider,
    the itch,
    the phone call from earlier,
    I blink and miss lines
    the holes
    confuse me,
    I can’t keep up
    though I want to 
    long to
    be to them 
    what they’ve been 
    to me
    to each other;
    I’ve never 
    been good at listening.
    , ,

  • Telling My Friends About My Divorce

    again
i tell you again
explain it again
defend me		again
give you 		space

i lose

friends over // the way he doesn’t
know me // doesn’t want to
ask again
i defend // make room for me
know me // you don’t want to
ask again
how is your faith?
it must be 	    lost
must be	            running

release 
the conditional chokeholds

please

give 
my freedom	    space
    , , , , ,

  • Real Magic

    I'm chasing sunsets again.
Though, it's never about the sunset.
No, it's never the ball of orange falling into the horizon.

It's always the clouds - 
the clouds are the real magic.
    , , , , ,

  • Falling

    I can feel myself falling...

  • You Asked Me What the Clouds Sound Like

    but all I could think about was smearing
wet paint with my fingers
(the blanket of your preferred color)

the morning overcast expanded until it broke
a glistening mosaic in the sky—but fluid,
rowing across the window
like a boat on the horizon

growing full
(like my heart)
then releasing
(like my breath)
taking up space
then resting (my head on the chair)

meditating on a day worth having

and in the end
glowing.
    , , ,