What a struggle
to be me,
sitting here
so patiently
waiting for a new train to come,
the last one long gone,
gone, gone…
We need nothing,
and yet there is longing;
we want everything,
and yet here it is:
everything,
sitting
on some stone in my backyard.
All alone, it has sat.
Patiently,
sitting,
in a station
I have sat at many times.
Maybe if it looked in on itself,
it would find patience there, too.
January 9, 2016
It would never have worked out anyway,
you and I.
.
Me,
a lonely tree,
still sturdy enough
to shelter you when there was rain
my own pain present in my rings–
you wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t made you ask.
.
You,
a fallen sparrow,
just looking for a place to stay
until you flew away–
your wings are meant for flying, you know.
.
Naturally,
we parted ways,
years floating by as you flew, and I grew tall–
I can see more beauty from a distance, now.
.
I stand my ground,
and sometimes look around
at the leaves I have spread,
effortlessly,
onto the earth below:
expanding pain and beauty and time
giving only wisdom back
to the soil–
they are called growth rings,
after all.
This weekend, I shared some of my work at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in NYC. Considering I had not planned on this at all (had only expected to listen to some spoken word) it went pretty well! The experience paired with this lovely article (http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/01/the-mindful-life-illustrated-what-we-can-learn-from-trees/) inspired this poem…and for me to change things up and add a [google search provided] photograph. Happy Monday!
When you open up about it
I’m not promising it will be easy.
.
When the air becomes thick
like white cream cheese
and you can’t simply scrape off the edges
with a knife you wonder
who else is feeling this way?
.
I thought my mother did;
but she said, “What I’m feeling is physical,”
I thought the government did;
but they said, “She’s a terrorist
and he has a mental health problem,”
I thought a suicide every thirteen minutes
would be enough to prove
our grasp on this epidemic is not tight enough.
.
I want to say,
“This is physical,”
when it crashes over me
like a war-torn tide,
daily sabotage not unlike your migraine
I wish I could go swallow an Aspirin
but one pill in the middle of an ocean
will not magically make the water calmer.
.
It is when we realize that we are
the water,
the tide,
each speck of sand we trickle onto
they are sprinkled in our bones–
not unlike the stars
the heavens will always be there,
waiting.
.
For even at your worst,
peace is always flowing;
anxiety
is not you,
it is just a word
you may not feel it now
but feel your breath–
it has not left you yet
the beauty found in nature
is found in your own skin,
still waters under roaring currents
just as Love sits
under pain,
patiently.
.
When you open up about it
I’m not promising it will be easy.
.
I’m promising it will be worth it.
.
December 20th, 2015
spread some love today and speak your truth– you are worth it
I’m not looking for The One.
I suppose I’m just looking for the one I won’t get tired of.
……
The number of betrays I have felt–
they are buried down deep
and it was not until I was ready enough to hold the shovel
that I could dig them out and start to peek
at the friends that I fell for,
the hearts that broke
a piece of mine away
and it’s like I’m still looking for the pieces.
…..
I never intend for much of anything
to happen
because once I feel like something is “home”
like someone is “home”
I want nothing more but to stay in one place
in time
and swim as the minutes swoon,
tears fall, smiles appear
…..
I don’t want them to go away;
this explains why my biggest fear is change
….
Not just any change,
like the nickels in my pocket,
the grass stain on my shirt,
my aging years, the new day coming
….
We learn lessons not from god,
but from his gifts
this world is nothing but experience
…
and yet all we want is not thankfulness,
but choice
between “who” and “what” and “when”
and the childhood friends that soiled your memories
or maybe just burned up the sides
of the one polaroid you have left.
..
All I want is to go home.
.
All I need is to realize, to accept,
that home is not the same place it was when I left it.
………………………………………………………………………….
May, 25, 2015
