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The Sun and the Moon

And of course, it took nothing from you.
Why would I allow that?
I would never allow the sun
defile the moon.
Each is in their own instances
beautiful,
mystifying,
useful.
And who is not
in love with them both
for a time?
Why then must one choose
this thing or that?
I will take,
have whatever I prefer
during the time
and in the manner
in which I want
and nothing
can done about it.
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Of All Creation…

Today I want to create

Today I want white dresses

Painted in blood, in red dirt, in grass stains

In rays of sunshine

…Unwrinkled by the wind and wet heat

Today I want to create

Today I want seeds planted on the inside

(To be a walking ground; a foundation not phased by shifts)

Hands to my chest

So you may feel that the seeds beat too

(Just give ‘em some time)

Today I want to create

Today I want love dripping down my thighs

Until sticky

Until translucent turns flakey

Today I want my screams turned into song

My grip.  Turned into push.

My tears turned into oceans blue

No, into freshwater true

Can you swim?

Are you thirsty?

Would you like me to bathe you?

Today I want to create

Today I want to be loved

Into creation

…To loudly whisper love back into

You

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growth

sometimes, growing
is more painful
than the hurt
that got you there.

growing is claws
scratching at your skin
and chipping away
at your bones.

growing is spitting out
your lover’s name
like it was a bitter plum
with a seed too big
to even think
about swallowing.

sometimes growing
is cutting away
your favorite parts,
and mowing down
that tall grass
that so many men
have tried to peek through.

sometimes growing
doesn’t feel like growing.
it feels like breaking,
and you look in the mirror
and see more jagged bottle
than woman.
but you know that
all this breaking
and shattering
got to mean something
one of these days.

so you keep at it.
you pluck the words
from your tongue,
cut the roses until
your blood tastes
like honey from all the thorns,
and trim the weeds away—
least they strangle you
in your sleep and
you lose all that good dirt
you’ve been putting down.

(image by Oscar Obians via unsplash)

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what mourning looks like

the bed still smells like his aftershave.
the cup he used is still sitting on the counter.
his clothes still hang in the closet.
you still listen to his voice from
the last message he left.
there are pictures littering the floor.
your friends tell you it’s time to move on.
pack the clothes away—haul them off to goodwill. Continue reading what mourning looks like