Self Love

I’m

beginning

to see

self love

in a different way.

 

Learning

to love yourself

for what you used to doubt,

to question, to hate–

that is the most important part.

 

The smile on your face,

the eyebrows above it,

the eyes a boy used to love,

the stories within them.

 

Water can crash down

and hurt you but in the end,

it is only water.

 

Everything else is just a feather,

floating,

remaining neutral.

 

July 2, 2016

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at the ocean

my intention,

my desire,

my secret wish

is to simplify life.

 

many men

have tried It;

we heard about it.

 

It didn’t work.

 

many women

have tried It;

we didn’t hear about it.

 

(proof enough) It didn’t work.

 

we searched for It

in churches and mosques,

temples and tall, gray shopping malls.

 

we listened for It

at TED talks, college lecture halls

and sports stadiums with 80,000 seats.

 

when fate

grants you power,

what do you do with It?

 

men decided to seek It only in themselves,

simplicity and peace and glory

owned by one hand, one heart, one tear.

 

I ask: where does the tear come from?

Where does the water come from?

I’ll start by listening there.

 

March 18, 2016.

on lunch break

how nice it is

to sit by the river and unwind,

blink by

blink.

 

you know your same-old view

in the city:

skyscraper tree tops

that leave you wanting for a chickadee

 

where can I find just one bird?

(the pigeons are beautiful, mind you.)

 

I yearn to hear a song;

the water gives it to me–

it gives it to us

as long as I keep my ears open

I can hear it all the way from the skyline.

 

remind me how love songs go, again?

does he start?

am I the minor chord?

 

the wind trickles in;

between my toes

the water hums.

 

my shoulders sigh

as I remember how easy it must have been

 

to let

doors open

before windows closed,

families eat meals together

after swimming through the day.

 

the world stills;

my eyes close;

and I tell my heart,

“It’s okay

to remain

open.”

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January 21, 2016

Frozen Lake

It has

taken me a while

to sit in a dark corner,

rest in my chair

and think about the scene

on the lake:

children following

chilled ear-muffed parents,

falling into black puddles

my eyes sore

from their grimaces

and yet, all too soon,

they come back up again.

 

I was never too trusting

of my skates;

faces tell me their parents

are not either.

 

I suppose

falling and rising

are the stepping stones of a generation,

frostbite, bumps and bruises

making our own easier to handle,

each crack in the ice

new wisdom,

a sudden truth

that all we need to know

is not the mirage,

sprawled green grass glowing in the distance.

 

It is the frozen

here and now.

 

July 23, 2015

Washing Off Fear

Things that scare me:

too much movement,

not enough time,

students failing classes,

children falling in line

to a code of conduct

the state tends to copy

from one generation to the next–

why can’t they provide

bandaids instead

for the multitude of broken hearts

and wings clipped off

before they got to fly,

my skin burning and telling me

that inside isn’t safe

and yet the outside won’t stop spinning

I need to jump off,

but where?

I,

we

 must sink in, ankle deep

into a beautiful, mud lined shore

reminding us that a sticky situation

is never incurable–

all we must do

is wash our hands in the tide,

watch water flow

and wait for our souls to follow.

May 2, 2015

Happy (early) Birthday to my little brother, who is going to be a teenager tomorrow! 😮