I hate that the wound I thought was scarred was torn open with Christmas glee

while his wreck of appearance desecrated my safe haven, my holy place, my privacy.

He pulled up a truck to my front windows and loaded it with trash from their home

While I made sure not to move the blinds but with caution because I’m alone.

Seeing him made my heart crumple up like worthless discarded paper

at least as far as he’s concerned,

All I wanted to be for him was a guide as his empowered future shaper.

I wanted to be a guardian of the light I saw within him,

but from his mind, and through his eyes, his light is just too dim.

And so I sit crying while he drives off across the grass of my house

with another bag of garbage leaving wisdom non-espoused.

Air Weaving

What the people around me don’t know

is that I am hyper aware

of all their dirty secrets

that are woven in their hair.

Events, they rarely touch me

no matter what they be

mind over mind redundant

crystal clear I see

The patterns of the lives that pass

right before my eyes

are rainbow colored epiphanies

pure as a summer sky.

But things are never simple

they’re never in a line

Things do not run linear

scatter fields of emotional land mines

Because people lie

and people thieve

and people want to win

People hurt each other

as if it’s not a sin

I witness every nuance

each glance

or expression

they try to hide

I’ll keep all their secrets

locked up safe inside.

If they ask me for the key

which they rarely do

I backhand them bluntly

straightening the askew.