The Long and Short

The days are striding through spring

stepping clumsily through the temperatures

Dawn ascends brighter each breath

and languishes nightly in preparation

for the augmented hefts of summer sun.

The length of her inspirations dwindle

Seasons ahead of schedule.

She burrows deep under fleece-y blankets

shivering in the warmth of herald’s sun.

Her days grow fewer; enhanced silence.

Winter white she dissolves into the depths

The ombre of accepted death

All of Me

“Dude, did it occur to you that you’re the only one who knows, for better or worse, everything you’ve ever thought or done? Other people only see what they want to.”

Even the darkest recesses are mine

Cracks, cuts, scars;

the bloodied spirit,

the blistering skin

with a strength and power

that continues strumming the chords of life

with distinction against the omnipresent breath

of the extraordinary or wretched depths of humanity

A central pinnacle of impassioned visionaries

Not enough done

As the murk of the world alights.

It is incongruous with the vision

of love and compassion

There is no home for clemency

while being force-fed antiquated beliefs

in systems used to afflict, oppress,

and suppress our brethren;

ourselves.

The systematic elimination

of our individual humanity

collectively erodes our sense of security.

The world is no longer unmolested.

Apprehensive,

encouraged to be paranoid of one another,

we attempt to find a balance.

We’re not meant to.

It is a violation of the power dynamic

Unity is the only recourse.

Shoulder to shoulder

deconstructing the industrial

slave trade one tyranny at a time

Refusing less than our significance

our value

our basic human needs being met.

Comfort

Where once there was a sense of peace

wrapped in your arms

quiet of the world

enamored with your kiss

your touch

your skin against my lingering fingers

now there is only a comfort

A visceral sense of being who

I have longed to be since before you existed

My Star

Oh, how I loved him.

I wrote poems of my love for him.

I made art in testament to my devotion.

I honored him to the best of my ability

Until I just couldn’t do it any longer.

Blank looks

Or no response

Or “It’s good. I like it.”

No matter what I did.

Never more.

At times, I would yell or scream

Desperate for ANY reaction.

Stonewalled.

But, oh, how I loved him.

I believed that if I loved him

(As he couldn’t through mine)

Through his obvious depression

Eventually, the man I loved so dearly,

Would return.

If…

I just loved him for a little longer,

A little harder, a little bit stronger,

The man who gave me the stars

(He really did name a star for me),

I would experience the intimate devotion

That I adored when he loved me back.

I loved him with everything I knew

And, for him, it was not enough.

I was too much for him.

I was not enough for him.

I was not worth the effort.

I was too much effort.

But, after I had come from the darkest place I’d ever been,

Love from him was blatantly and obviously absent.

While I had his love near my heart,

I loved him with all my being.

I can forgive myself for believing

In the love I KNOW we shared.

Oh, how deeply I loved him.