Category Archives: poetry

Lovers

Seperation.
Attempted Reconciliation.
Distance.

A little art I created. Open to your own interpretation.

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Gold

Fell asleep on the couch, not quite on purpose. Hazy sunbeam woke me up, bouncing off of the ring. The ring that doesn’t fit anymore. Doesn’t fit in any sense.

Hazy sunbeams in an airless room on a July afternoon. Friends and family and way too crowded. The bride is beautiful, glowing and ripe.

The ring dangles from a black ribbon. Tiny diamond heirloom from another failed endeavor.

I do and I do and I will and I promise. Nerves and heat. Eyes everywhere, expectant.

The sun warms the color, making it appear deep and meaningful, but the meaning has changed. Matrimony to melancholy. Once she was my song, now she is my versus.

We cry joy and there’s cake served with chaos. Later there’s mountains and sunset.

Mesmerized for a moment. When did it stop fitting? When did it stop meaning? When did joy turn bitter? When did I?

We tumbled through years, decades. Danced and hurt, healed and danced again. Then the song was over.

This memory on a ribbon.

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Pray Lewd

I choose to see the growth within the rain.
I choose to see the nutrition in the dirt.
I choose to see the healing in the heartbreak.
I do not walk my road in fear.

#rebeljesus

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I Want to Call You.

I want to call You and tell You about the things I saw, felt, and thought while walking

I want to call You and tell You about the dreams I have

I want to call You and share the art that grows in my heart

I want to call You just to hear Your laughter … free and wild, like Your spirit

I want to call You … mine.

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The Copse

I want to be beautiful. 

Not like something for sale, not what a patriarchal society whistles and moans and lusts over, no.
I want … I long to be the beauty of the natural.
Not even the peacock, or the flowers, but the thriving, brilliant, living Green of the leaves that at once delights, comforts, and feeds.

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A Place Reserved

There are walks We will never take.

Places We’ll never see together .

Adventures We will never share.

Stories We will never create.

Conversations, never born.

I remember them all.

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Tea and Honey

Chilly night, and I’m substituting the warmth of Her touch with green tea and the sweetness of Her kiss with honey. They are ghosts of the real thing, but the memory is still clear. Sharp and silver.
Good memories. Happy memories.
I’m not broken, I’m not fragile. I found strength and love within, and I’m building on that foundation.
The smell of fall in the air and in my mind I’m back home.
Alone, but not lonely. Discovering myself (again) in the solitude.
Tea and Honey.

And it’s enough.

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