wish:

this morning
the bracelet broke

relief
shoulders drop forward
heart raises to realize:

what will be will be
my understanding
is not necessary

dear frayed blue ribbon,
senhor do bonfim:
thank you for teaching me
my greatest lesson:

life is not mine to move.
i am not the puppetmaster.
i am only a single fleck
waiting to be moved
by the waves
of this world's giant storm

now return
to mountain pose.
strong feet, steady posture
arms to the sky:
body falling forward,
but heart always, always leading
before the mind

writer's bed:

my bed has become a writer's bed again.

books, journals, pens
spread amongst the overturned
underturned sheets
crinkled from last night's sleep

pages opened
highlighted
(never dog-eared)
to important bits

relearning
the way it feels to watch flames
dance on the white of the walls
toes digging in to warm sheets

relearning
this identity that is my own
recreating,
rebuilding,
renewing

remembering

down the rabbit hole:

i saw it last night in a dream.

imagine:
a little girl, around 9 or 10, in this large, dilapidated house
with water sneaking through its baseboards
every time it rains

this little girl?
she's sitting at the top of carpeted stairs,
looking down,
staring in to the aquarium at the base,
but only hearing the screams

and the slamming doors
following the footsteps of her mother
bags packed,
keys in hand

this isn't the first time
and it won't be the last time
and here the little girl will be,
wondering if she'll be left behind

as the car drives away
the little girl settles her head in to her knees
wondering
what she possibly could have done
to have made her stay

damage:
years later, in a dream
replay:
this time, the little girl sees her life
all grown up

her home, her bed, her dogs, her love
but she does not see herself
her mother, instead,
in her place:
yelling, screaming, throwing,
beating, crying, begging

her heart:
how painful an image
to see
the vicious cycle
play out in front of me

realization:
our environment
does not dictate
our choices

silent mornings:

bundled in,
morning silently slipping through
the cracks in the blinds
where disaster remains tangible:
slammed doors, angry words

silent morning
wrapped in the comforts
of a warm security blanket
through those doors,
reality, but for right now,
fantasy

no struggles
no pain
no anger
no resentment
no problems

for now,
quiet in the wake
of turmoil

for now,
a reprieve from the trials
of living

quiet room reading:

reflection:
a place left for scars,
consequential, judgmental, painful
scars

overanalyzing overanalyst
every moment tracked through my brain waves
you: nonexistent,
gone cold,
tuned out,
running
me: remembering,
biolumniscence,
bamboo rafts,
favorite poems

nights riding in the bumblebee
stars fading aimlessly overhead
words falling out of our mouth
fast forward:
silence, you
giving your words to everyone else

me:
writer's block, failing words
anger, hatred, irrationality
pain in my voice as i speak
tears slipping down

one second: anger
next second: come back

i'll be happy
when i can sleep in this room
without watching your ghost
glide around its carpeted floors