Category Archives: poetry

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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In the Wings

All alone on the stage tonight

I’m not afraid, or so I’m told.
I know these lines, I’ve spoken them scores of times.
I always, always hit my mark.
I head the bill in my own humble show
I come in proud and clean
I know I’ll leave empty and scarred
I give it all, you know?
I don’t leave any in the reserve because that’s not the me I know. Both feet. Full immersion. 
The scars won’t be my own, but I’ll own them for a time. 
Proud to carry the hurt, the words, the ugly

The boy on the playground, delivering soliloquies to the swings, sonnets to the slide.
Picking up his trash and tucking it into his (lunchbox), heading home through the soft rain and the hard, pointed jeers.
… and the green.
Despite the taunts, all that haunts
Are the smell of the good earth
And the color of the tree filtered sunset.

It’s a spotlight, and he’s almost home.

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Almost All of Them Lived

I am Earth. Dirt born at the hands of a holy woman (in a holy place).

I am Earth, creation, womb, haven.

I am Earth as You are surely Water.

I am Earth, and the green lives within my heart, waiting to bloom.

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