Biology or Prison

I look at you and notice
The cells we’ve made
(Or found)
That contain us

Alone. I look at my hands
And wonder if they’re strong enough
To break my cell
And everyone else’s too.
A hand that prides itself on softness.

When I close my eyes,
The cell remains.
When I breathe for myself,
The cell dissolves.
Let me catch my breath for a moment.
Let me feel that I am temporary.



How Time Exists and Moves and Elopes

Do you feel what everybody feels?
Or are you alone, your soul wandering,
A mended body
Something inside, like a heart
(Or a fist)
Signalling a life
(Or a suffering)
Perhaps both.

Yet you step forward each moment
Into the forgiving future
That allows you to be whole
If you wish
And healed
If you try
And yourself
If you dare


Uphill Start

I wonder when you will leave me.
I wonder what your excuse will be.
I wonder if I should trust you at all,
Give you the opportunity to leave me


I wonder what your intentions are
(Looking for)
I wonder if you know who you are
(Looking for)
I wonder if you wonder about me
(Wishing to know)
(More about you)


The Beginning is Aware of the End

Please tell me you’ll make a dent.
I am tired of relationships that end
without pain, without an ending. Fizzle
due to a lack of heat to begin with. Fizzle
into an ending that was obvious from the start.

I want a relationship that I know will hurt if it ends,
that will leave me broken. Only then will I know
that I have felt deeply. Only then will I know
that it was worth it. I want to be whole
with someone that might break me,
not because I like to be broken
but because I like to be whole.

And I know I can be whole again
after a breaking, for I have done it already,
and I can do it again.

Be that potential for hurt with me.
Be that potential for love.


Uncovering / Recovering

I have filled myself with others’ stories.
Stories to avoid my own.
Stories to carry,
to ponder,
to listen to on repeat in my own head late at night,
when I am forgetting to be writing my own.

Stories of pain
and difficulty and happiness and
memories, felt or lost or forgotten
until they are told out loud.

I have been overflowing with other selves
I absorbed, mistakenly
trying to fit them into my own concave interior,
a container to be filled and shipped
somewhere far. I yearn to lock
and steal these stories inside of me,
take them to a new place where I might bury them,
and as I dig their grave, in the soil I find
myself, waiting to be lifted out and taken home.