Somewhere in a trance there is this waterfall of sound,

Enticing every color from the Ribcage to the ground.

I seek a new divinity, untethered by my chains,

A drowning watercolor of my home I sought to save.

We cannot quell the flow of thorns, the

Riverbeast of thunder scorned.

Please kill this cavern-ache inside,

And kill the sonder-life

I hide.


Usually, there is cold.

Ice and deftness, dexterity and chill.

But when the slow-deep comes, the fire

Lights in her hands. The warmth spreads

Through her veins

And cradles her heart. It squeezes

Like a vest, like a binding

The current carries her away.

She flickers out for a time

And the warmth

Stays; the tongues of flame

Lighting their own way.


You minister to my regret
And clean away the smog; my breath
As it clicks and catches through my lungs
You dig the dirt from blood and bones. 

I weep with relief at the pain you leave
The hissing release of the burning-disease
My aching Heart yells! It screams! It smolders
Let me go on let me wander no longer

Weed up the burrows that root in my flesh
Tear out the system of feelings I’ve kept
Let me be clean again or let me be dead

re-apply the healing
I’ve clawed off time and again

Not-me; me

Share me?

Share not-me;

I am not an empty-heart; I am not ice-blocked emotions. I am not a clean-break, not shards of rounded safety glass, cubed, wound-proof. 

I am not time, I am not burdens. I am not certain

Or worthy. I am not organized; I am not check marks in flawless lists or a docile couple in frozen bliss. 

I am not entirely human. I am not a settler, or someone who stays still. I am not full of perfect health and good posture and concerning food I have no iron will. 

I am not tame or sane or well-kept; I am not clean blank paper or unwritten stanzas or shyness toward people I have not met. 

I am not picture-perfect, I am not cliche, I am not a normal being in any human way. I am not a smart tidy rhyme packed away in a neat little scheme. 

I am the words falling away from your minds in the darkest times of your day. I am poetry and panic and disturbance of sleep; I am wild colors and unmade designs run amok to keep their own. I am the child who names herself; I am the wicked wind that flows through and snags your heart from a branch, tearing it off the trees you entrusted it to. 

I am the sickness in bones and the exhaustion in eyes, carved in the smiles of everyone alive. This I am also, to my own detriment. 

I am full of faith-longing; constellations combust within me, believing for saving and waiting for companions and cleansing of sins. My eyes see nothing and my soul sees the wind. 

I am screams inside that claw up from your chest, possessed by searing flame which writhes without rest. I am mental chaos, a shattering smashing shoving build up of quiet and longing. 

I am aching hearts that gaze at one another in silent agony, lips full of words that cannot be spoken. I am tattered clothing,

Ripped jeans and sloshing souls full of sodden sparkles, tired but relentless.

I am soul — I am endless.  


“Why?” She cried. “Why can’t I withdraw, and be alone but not lonely and be simple and wise and not needy and not needing to be fulfilled?

Why can’t I wander off and not return and have them ache and feel my absence without my missing them? Why can’t I retreat and hide and sleep in silence of thought? Alone?”

Because, the wind droned. Because you are Person. And Person cannot be without People. 

And she cried some more. 

The Lady Who Would Be

I saw a figure walking toward me 
Wreathed in colorful perfume
Her eyes were lit with shifting flame
That cured my illest, darkest gloom. 

I perceived a future passed
Which featured me most prominent;
My worth was not a shifting dance
And I freely sang Your song again. 

The woman wreathed in scents was I,
As should be in another time. 
Lit instead from deep within,
Her flames not earthly but Divine. 

She laughed as freely as I sigh,
And firelight flickered from her eyes.
From deep within I felt a cry;
Longing for the me which died. 

So came I to a place of smoke;
Unearthly, holy-fire-caused;
And took a knee to search about,
For someone who would hear my cause. 

To my side there came a presence
Overwhelming, warm as love itself
I wept for perfection which instead
Of condemnation longed to help. 

So returned I to a future renewed
The true path was re-affirmed
I sought out He who breathes the stars
Who heals with Fire our earthly burns. 

By grace I became the lady in color
Whose confidence did abound;
Wreathed in the love of my beautiful savior,
My drifting soul had been found.