Take me there, where nothing is familiar,
And everything, an adventure.
Where foreign languages swirl around us,
Exotic music spilling into the streets.
A world away from fear,
So deeply entrenched, we dare not risk,
Leaping, falling…breaking.
Take me there, unabashedly,
And dare me to do something we shouldn’t.
They all won’t be sad, promise.
And for those of you who have already read this one, apologies for the repeat. It’s just, I took the first bite of my apple…
—
Mushy apples, wet peanut butter, cigarette smoke.
Plastic straws, caged animals, tree stumps.
Distended bellies, oppressed souls, false hope.
Hiccups, parking tickets, splintered wood.
Sirens, screeching brakes, raised fists.
Apathy, the sound of pain, someday I should.
You deserve the best, cold feet, flights home.
Bad timing, broken promises, empty words.
Twilight, sleeping alone…waking up alone.
Illustration by Heather Horton
* Cover illustration by Ashley Bowersox
Maybe in another lifetime,
Our fates liberated from the confines of continents,
The injustice of timing,
The pre-existence of her, him, and them.
Maybe then…
You’d know.
I truly believe that people come into our lives for a reason, at just the right time, to enrich us in some way- to steer us in the right direction, help us realize our potential, and remind us to live and love fully.
But sometimes, these lessons are as painful, as the reasons are unfathomable. And their messengers, more menacing than we thought humanly possible.
I might never understand why he came into my life and what lessons I was supposed to learn, but I do know this:
These messengers can try to strip us of our dignity, shatter our hearts, and reduce us to ashes.
But know this: we are the fire- the embers, and the ashes, and out of the ashes, we will rise, hellbent, with grace and grit.
And We Will Burn.
TEXAS
You laid on my chest,
Counting the beats,
As I counted yours.
Smiling, I waited,
Hoping you would say,
I think they beat the same.
Kintsugi is the centuries-old tradition of repairing pottery by filling in cracks with gold, with the understanding that the piece is more beautiful for haven been broken.
No love, you are not broken.
There is nothing to be fixed.
You are just beautiful in a way most can’t understand.
But you don’t want most, do you.
You don’t need to be understood by those.
Who can’t see the beauty in imperfection.
You will not find poetry here
Here, no poet resides.
Just a collection of words
Infused with magic, (which cannot be defined)
Summoned by a gypsy soul
Hiding behind a naked guise.
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