My ancestral wisdom is tangible in my sunburnt skin, tasted on my compassionate tongue, washed in glorious joy, baptized in horrific sorrow. I am spirit ever expanding, heated with a desire to be loved, buried in the beaches of hourglass sands using a cracked red plastic bucket and a too small yellow shovel. I’m thirsty for knowledge, recumbent in peace. I am decayed by grief with only a mildly offensive odor. I have rebuilt myself, my life, my dreams with non-stock aftermarket replacement parts out of every past me I’ve ever been.
Monthly Archives: June 2024
#2699
Darkness when I close my eyes. Pinpoints of light flare and fade against the backs of my eyelids like constellations. I imagine myself walking along …
#2699
“But our past selves are a kind of ancestor too, I realize.”
I’ve packed up my old selves.
Some are in cardboard boxes
Not neatly arranged, but haphazard
Strewn about through my ages.
Some are neatly painted wooden heart-shaped chests.
There are broken pieces of sharp wood and rusty nails scattered about
If you peek inside the ones with the missing pieces;
Lids askew,
You’d see a lot of damage on the remnants of me in those
But if you put on the complimentary rose-colored heart-shaped glasses
You’ll know my intentions were true, even if theirs were not.
Some are in disco 🪩 balls sending spectrums of reflection outward
Loud, frantic movements, jutting hips and ruby painted lips 👄
But who I’ve become is more than those but still the sum
Healing Hugs
I hugged shame
I loved disgrace
I encouraged peace
To the weeping face
I heard confession
I felt mercy
I held his hand
Told him he’s worthy
Removed the prison
Of spoken word
Showed him value
By actions served
He sobbed for relief
From a god he doubted
Regret his badge
His sight; sin clouded
Visible pain
ached his soul
But his words dictated
Desperate control
Will he surrender?
Forgive his heart?
Remember his humanity,
That is tearing him apart?
I can’t fix him
Or make things better,
Just let him feel loved
Releasing the debtor
