Whole, Broken

I am a human —

I am not just a woman,

I am not just a moment,

I am not just a gift.

I am alive —

my emotions ebb and flow

just like yours, sad man.

The sad man, taking space

for the story;

the sad man, sharing tales

about his glory

forgetting the time he said

“together,”

stomping out the past

as if he’s doing me a favor.

I am whole,

and now I am also broken,

just for you—

another sad man

so unequivocally,

unapologetically,

unsurprisingly

alone,

that I question why I’ve carried

around this hope at all.

 

I saw Slave Play last night and credit it for the “sad man” reference above. What an important play…and an important line.

 

October 18th, 2019

City Living

We live here,

apartment three

floor four–

it’s confusing,

I know.

Burgundy molding

pinches the outside of my window,

a gentle beauty

I did not expect to find on my side

of New York City.

The big picture is always on my mind;

and yet I so rarely see it.

I can stand across the street

and trace the molding with my finger,

flowers and leaves winding down,

perfectly framing a place

that makes home feel a little bit closer.

My head hurts, sometimes.

Despite the pretty picture

I can still hear the questions

layered in the window pane,

stories corned in by concrete slabs

and the society

we close our doors and try to hide from

We cannot lock ourselves away forever.

My eyes are beginning to open,

learning what it means to not just think

holistically

but to be whole;

not just to trace the molding

but to hold the painting,

turn the knob,

open the door.

September 18, 2015