reaching for the sun

words can't do this.

everything i could say about you feels cliche and tired. empty descriptions that can't possibly express the warmth of your arms or the sugar in your smile.

it's difficult to write poems for you.  i'd rather be a poem for you: something uplifting or pretty to hear; something to memorize and carry with you.

would you mind?


chasin paper

inspiration: twitter & sept. 17

too many holes
in too many hearts
stuffed with paper

unpack 'em
and the light
and love
might creep in...

protect the hoard
at all costs
let it fill our ears
better yet,
cover our eyes...

your greed
cannot obscure the truth:
no matter what it buys,
poverty of spirit
can never be


please hold a moment...

started to post something last night/this morning, but it was too raw. didn't wanna expose y'all to all that blood and sinew so early.

i'm living in it, but you don't have to.

yeah, sometimes i toss up my ripped-open heart for your eyes and ears. but those things often get posted weeks, months, or years after i've written them.

being ready to share is a funny thing; it happens when it happens. it can be in the moment, or when i dig up an old journal during a cleaning jag.

today, i'm not ready. but i'll write it down somewhere.

i'll holla.


season of discomfort

putting on layers
just to snatch them off...

kicking off covers,
then shivering.

temperamental shower temperatures...

all to make room for
dying leaves
and more cold.

never gets easier.


full moon musings {9/2011}

out of thought-notions no longer capable
of holding me;
wavy lines
box outlines;
feeling the moon
in my bloodstream
luxuriating in universal illumination;
i don't know myself
but i do
and i love her
just as well.


using my words

been dancing with some writer's block lately...trying to figure out what to write, how to write it, how to make it make sense...

but i've also been made newly aware of how words can show support, effect change, and share ideas.

that's pretty inspiring.

the exact manifestation eludes me, but i'm more keenly aware that i have work to do.


love as battlefield

in dialogue with Maman Danto

it is never easy
being forced to see my heart

leaning in to examine
the scar tissue
and still-bleeding wounds...

even with help,
trudging through a battlefield
is difficult.