Whirligig.

Burned my mouth, tonight.
I lick my salty wounds and so I smile
Got another climbing curve to conquer
here.
Another breath of poison vapor clinging
Here.
Ignites my spiral black hole clinging
There.
Extinguishes my fears and though I
Wait.
It isn't ever finished
So I
Pray.
Don't believe in God and so I
Pray.
So glad it isn't me and so I
Pray.
So thankful that this burden isn't mine.
And so I pray.
My God I couldn't be so graceful
Drown.
In angel vapors
Burn my mouth.
Blister there.
And remind me I'm so painfully alive.
And I'm alright.
Said, I'm alright.

Odd out.

I was so excited to meet you.
To be a part of something.
To maybe feel a little like I
Belonged somewhere.
I know I have family here.
I know I should feel at home
But
I don't share a plan with them
A life, a story, a goal.
I'm the odd man out,
Everywhere I go.
Don't quite ever belong anywhere,
Anymore.
Don't quite know how.

Un ravel.

It starts at the ends.
A little here, a little there.
A small leak, or noise or frayed edge.
I sew it up, patch it back together
Only to find another crumbling, rusting
Part.
I wear a face I thought was mine.
And when even that peels off, too
I wonder where the meaning all went.
It's easy, to trip on so many rocks that you
Forget what not-falling feels like.
'Til all you're pulling up is your own bootstraps
Drown too long, you forget about the air
And all you have is the water pressing down.
I gotta breathe, a little.
I know my gray-washed world is temporary,
That technicolor life isn't far away, but
I just get so tired of grasping at the

end of my rope.

It steals things.
My bright things.
Anything pretty or shiny or good.
It tells me things.
Tells me I'm not in on the joke.
Everyone is faking it.
That I didn't try hard enough.
It steals things.
Anything that sparkles with joy
Anything that's made of laughter or connection.
It makes me feel heavy.
It whispers the answers in my ear
And pastes lists of losts and lasts and misses behind my eyelids at night.
You are ugly and broken,
It says.
You will never be.
It takes my hope and my desire and my ferocity and wears them in its lapel like a flower.
My breath is sour,
My hands are empty and my feet are still.

It tells me I'll never sing again.
That my songs weren't ever good, anyway
And that I should just hand it the keys and turn in.

It's stealing everything.

Mute.

I washed his hair.
Tried cleaning off most of the blood and sticky white.
"Like lotion for his skin", I would have said.
I would have combed a darling part on his head, but his blistered skin would have come off in the bristled little brush.
I could feel his thigh bunching up in my clumsy hand- that familiar feel of too-thick pieces sliding too far. Careful with his too-white skin, still tearing here and there, leaving gaping bloodless wounds everywhere I touch.
Rubbery skull bones rattled in a deflated head as I changed his position. Careful with this little bag of bones, rubber-band tone long gone slack.
I talked to him because it felt weird not to. My muted coos filled a terrible vacuum a little.
Three days, they said.
"But, I can still feel him moving," she said.
"Can you still resuscitate?"
"How did this happen?"
"I thought everything was fine."
"When can I get pregnant again?"
And
"How do I say goodbye?"

I never said goodbye.

I doused him in oil to keep his wet paper skin from sticking to the cold blankets. I didn't bother getting warm ones.
I never said goodbye.
I saw the still little heart sweep by on the ultrasound screen. Both praying for and wishing against some agonal rhythm that might be sparked... And feeling my own heart sink when I saw that frozen image. All a family's hopes and dreams, gone in a flash.
"My baby," she cried.
"I'm sorry." We tried to explain. And faded into the roar of a tide of grief. It threatened to sweep us all away, that night.

So, I didn't say goodbye.

Twist.

Twist, turn
Remind me I'm alive.
It hurts, sometimes to be here and do this
And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Crack my chest and keep it bleeding
Pour and pour and weigh and hurt
Sometimes it helps just to have a wound to salt.
An itch to scratch, and a song to sing.
You are my sunshine, my only darling.
My onyx-bladed light and darkness.
Sometimes you have to open something up and rattle it around
And be a mess so you can make it cleaner.
So twist on, dear heart and hopes.
Take your halting steps toward some peace and sense.

Run/To

Everything you run from will still be there when you get back.
Maybe part of me knew,
Maybe I just like to push the buttons,
Shake every snow globe
Take every opportunity.
Maybe I'm just selfish.
Don't take my optimism for naïveté, please:
I may not know how deep this rabbit hole goes,
But I've dug enough to know what the bottom looks like.
And I keep choosing happiness, anyway.
I love fiercely.
I live a strange and imperfect life.
I make poor decisions.
And I go all the way through.
So come with me.
You're the last thing I want to run from.

Tempest toss'd.

At some point, I had to just trust the world. I realized that I have little to no control over what happens to me, and complete control over how I respond to it.
I'm curious. Painfully, indefatigably, to-a-fault curious.
I want to know about the world and about myself, and so sometimes I take risks and I put myself in uncomfortable situations and I like to go and do and see not only to see what the world is made of, but to see what I am made of.
I grow deeper and stronger. I am less and less fragile. I connect and I create and I live. Maybe I will hurt for it, but there is no wonder in safe harbors. There are no starlit dreams in careful steps. I'm so thankful for the safety of home that I've always carried in my heart: that I can travel far and wide and never feel truly adrift.

Location:Cairo

Sand.

Here's the part where I get to do all the things we said we would.
Where I keep my promises to myself
Instead of being heartbroken by yours again.
And again.
And, oh yeah.
Again.
Here's the part where I give myself all the things you
Never could, but always wanted to.
This is how I do it on my own.
Rather than carrying you, too.
The kites we flew together just weren't ever quite enough to
Keep my feet from sinking in the sand.
It was grand and lovely, sky full of fireworks, but then
To find that all the waves had washed the sand and the wood away.
I just needed somewhere to stand.
Your coral castle kept melting into wet handfuls of disappointed tear-salt.
An ocean of my tear-salt was never any balm for your soul-deep ache.
You were a hole just too great to fill.
Two bright stars, as ready at the gate to both explode into everlasting light as sink into eachother and draw the sun's last drops in and down.
I couldn't stay and keep watching as your storm kept washing me away.
So off I go - gathering speed toward a massive lightness.
Carrying a fire you know deeply.
I promised myself, for you, that I wouldn't let you drag me down and I hope you keep the same.
This is the best part, you know.
The story where I stop looking back at the spot where our fading footprints fell apart.
And then I start living happily ever after.

Sinus tachycardia.

Wanderlust returns, it seems.
Three weeks and I'm
High Tide
Again.
Three or four weeks' clocked
In and out again.
Find a rhythm in it.
Find a beat you can dance to.
Find your regular arrhythmia
See the next coda coming.
See it and sing it, then.
Keep your wing beats in time,
Take your careful steps and
Make sure you are good.

What it means.

It's the sound of the rain on the roof.
It's your arm on my chest and a dog in my lap.
It's a deep and abiding peace.
It's a slow and gentle hum.
It's the smell of last night's roast, of my favorite incense and the grainy mulch.
A little bath wash, a little fabric softener, an old vanilla candle.
It's blankets and the fireplace.
Your heavy sleeping breaths in my hair.
It's a rhythm I didn't know I wanted, a pace I never understood 'til now.
It's settling down, but not settling for.
It's moving forward in measured steps instead of a jitterbug swing, and keeping time with spoons and oven mitts.
It's the home I always craved, but didn't know how to make 'til now.
It's a furry foot on mine, and my hands in your hands that make me feel small and safe and precious.
It's here and now.
It isn't perfect, or easy all the time.
But it means so very much more than I ever meant before.
To mean something to you.