red sweater

I can't tell you what I am feeling right now. Which of the myriad of emotions it is. But its something. Something almost outside of myself, something that is permeating me to my core and I can't tell where the line of seperation is in my soul. Is it me? Is it my environment? Is it both?

A chink in my soul, expressed by my intense bouts of sighing. I hurt. I am tired of hurting, but still I hurt.

companions

Solitude, the ball and chain of my heart. You have kept me through this season of life, kept me. I resented you, even hated you at times, your burden seemed so hard to bear. But now I look at your face wondering if I’ve learned from you what I’ve always known I needed.

Silence. I never knew your name before this captivity, before being named with this city. Now you are my intimate companion. You are the way I express so much of my heart. You say the things I cannot say, through your vast vocabulary of…nothing.

“With the exception of your voice, no, I’ve never felt like crawling up into a sound and living there.”

You are teaching me to dance, and I like it. I’m scared, but I want to learn. Hold me tight, lead me the way a lover leads. Listen to my voice and fall in love with me again. I want you to know that I sing only for you. Though others may hear it, I sing for you.

I sing for you, my lover
As you lead me on paths so green,
My feet ache with memory
My heart with desire
Dance, dance

Don’t you see me
Coming to life in your arms
Coming to love in your embrace
Hold me tighter, spin me ‘round the room,
Till I’m dizzy with this fire inside.

Come find me again, I’ve lost my way
Trying to find the dancin’ hall,
Lost my way, gropin’ the wall,
Hiding behind flowers and
Hoping I won’t be seen.

Come see me! Though everything inside of wants to run. Come look at me.

My eyes are closed, hoping the world has disappeared, hoping that I have become invisible as I close my eyes and sing.

Come sweep me off my feet.

Grace is gone.

You exhilarate me,
exasperate me,
enliven me,
exhaust me, and sometimes you even
embarrass me.

All your changings, all your moody subtleties,
they happen like shadows shift through day.

my friend, my mirror

The lines on your face reflect my own.
Warm eyes are weighted with years of life.
Knowing smile carries a realistic hope with gritty determination.
We have grown, you and I.

To the Dawn!

the dam breaks…
the water flows…
the life and pain mingle,
one flavor of salty tears…

the answer comes: moaning midnight stranger

banished to darkness by tragedy,
feared, unknown, unheard,
but by wandering passer-bys.

“To the dawn! to the dawn! “
one wanderer cries.

a face demeaned, shamed,
pale from too much neglect,
nearly transparent, yet dark
at once appears.

Little girl, so sad and lost in some dark cave, come out and play.

Loves lost on you in that dark place, just echoes off the stone walls you have taken as your own flesh, and joy eludes you in this cavern of hate.

So many years locked up, hidden away you’ve become convinced that no one thinks you worth pursuing. And I’m sorry, I’m sorry for keeping you there for so long, for not knowing how to let you go, let you free.

But today is different, today you have a voice, today I give you to your Father, today I give you a name, an existence, even though I don’t know hardly anything about you.

Unfinished stream...prose...don't know what it is yet

It's hard to be raised by trees. Because time beginsto swallow you up and there is no more left of the knowing you had when you were once all caught up in bark and leaves, roots and needles, dark and light playing some twist of a game on your head, and then expectation arises in your later years for you to turn out just like them. Noble, strong, knowing exactly what to do. Roots grow deeper, trunk wider, branches farther, leaves greener year after year.

But the problem remains that though my relations seemed to mostly be with trees, as a young sapling my feet were never able to ground themselves long enough to take root.

And here I am like a wood-nymph without dirt and wood to return to, wandering about wondering what to do with the ageless deep understanding once I had when I drempt I was a tree, gasping for the sap that dripped through my veins, hoping that not all is lost because I woke up to find that my reality was actually bone- and- flesh.

Making sense of how to live as human, as woman in a world wrought with confusion about both. And still I find my mind wandering back to the green of my trees and finding solice there again, after all these years.

red book

beautiful day bleaches away the stain on my shirt, right about where my heart was pierced
and the noon day sun winks at meto keep up my chin; to bold facedly cry unsought tears, greif for love unmet after all these years, and i'm spent.

I'm done. I don't understand why it, my hearts' life and death, has happened the way it has.
old me says, "SEE! that is why you give up trying, you give up risking and hide it all away"

DEATH TO THE IMPOSTER!

Let love live. Risk it all again, I will not die from these wounds, I will not perish because of a broken heart.

Stream

Cookie, yum.

Can't wait till I become wrapt wholly in light and my skin is transparent like rain or young leaves on Aspen trees high in the Rocky Mountains.

So sad life takes certain turns, but must come to terms with the way things must be for future, for me. Can't wait to be inundated with waves of love so strong that pain begins to make sense, finally.

Purple robe, sceptor, crown want to fill them all out, to walk worthy of my name, fully pleasing my father, I am his daughter, he likes me a lot.

Glass-beads, sand that used to be rock, shell, stone, glass. sand gets in my pants when I sit down and try to think while I am on the beach.

Sweet smell of salt in my nose, sweet sound of waves tickling my toes. Love the way it makes me feel so small in the whole scheme of things. The whole scheme of things. Dwarfed at times by my mind-bending tricks that makes me and all of my mole-hill problems into the rocky mountains and then some wave comes to knock me down again, and its the wind, a light breeze that rustles the transparent leaves I wish I was, attached to a branch, attached to a trunk, attached to roots, go deep, grow strong, me small you big.

Scheme of things. Wild things are here and I am small, and yet my heart feels how much space it fills all around me and again wish I could fill the crown on my head, sceptor in my hand, robe on my back. He is calling me to be free with his name. The name he named me with, Princess, noble and strong, love that name, love that you call me that even when I'm not...yet, but am.

I lost it

I lost my little black book of poetry somewhere in New York.

tragidy because I never transfered what was in there to anywhere else.