Process.

Just let go.
I know it's just that simple- to just release, "relinquish", give it up.
To not give it more power or meaning than it really has.
To not get wrapped up in a story starring me.
But...
Dark lips move behind smoldering eyes, a puffy white flash smeared in red yawns in slow motion. I taste metal. I still breathe bitter and liquid.
Wild-haired and slack-jawed, I rinse torn skin over and over again in my dreams,
But I cannot seem to wash it away.
And so, I wonder though these images have taken a life and a command their own: if I can learn what I am supposed to learn, simply find the right perspective...
Can they hold me ever less captive in their grasp?

A & R

Wax doll, eyebright no more.
Paper peels away, cherry-red beneath.
Crying wax tears, here, too.
Crumbling where you should be filling.
Chafing and breaking where you should be bouncing.
Another go around, I know.
Wasn't right this time, I am sure.
Reason for everything, yes.
But it's all little comfort.
It all pales in your presence.
Tiny stolen breaths whisper over my shoulder.
Am I there yet?
Take me home?

Rough-hewn.

Avail me of your senses, if you please.
Give over to me
Your glassy eyes
Your forked tongue
Your layers of skin-thin paper
Your taste in clothes.
Give me that other sense,
The one between, the one that you're unsure of
But never betrays you.
I will treat them carefully,
And be sure to hand them back when I am done.

Smoke.

Mwen regret sa.
I found a fount of rubies, one day-
Sapphire gleaming in a puddle beneath my feet
I dug down in this shining mountain
And found exactly what I was looking for.
Deep under each of our lies
Lies a sleeping dragon: heavy-lidded but just as dangerous.
A threat to the frail threads that hold us together.
A warning to tread carefully over the coals.
I regret. I regret shaking it awake- the marks it's claws left and the charred edges of my confidence remind me to go slowly, step lightly, and keep watch for precious stones that make my mouth water,
But must never be touched.

Unconditional.

Breathe it in.
Breathe it out.
Breathe it in.
Let it go.
It wasn't ever mine to have in the first place.
I owe/own nothing, and so do you.
No contract here, nothing written nor signed.
Just love and temporary shelter given freely.
The logic behind my eyes makes sense and elevates us all.
By my heart's gentle insistence whispers a story of missing. Of innocent regret. Of a very empty space.
It's fibers pulling slightly, and a low ache that lets me know I'm real.
Lets me know that there's still work to do.
The next stepping-stone ahead is a step up, closer to healing, to putting it all together.
It's a step apart.
I know what happens, I know we always start with the best intentions but they end up fading quickly.
Light-years away, I'm pushing back out into the water. I don't know what else to do.
I'm sorry. I never did.
Breathe it out.
Let it in.
Send it through.
And if faith does carry this intent, if you ever make it, I'll still be there.

Simple.

More homework on my list-
Presence, expression and now meditation.
I ran today, farther from home than I wanted,
Further than I should have.
I don't think I am running away,
More to something that's always just at my fingertips.
"...If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I'll never look any farther than my own backyard..."
It's not getting what you want, it's wanting what you have... It's being fully present with each experience, enjoying every moment, not always planning the next move, the next jump, this week's checkmate.
It's doing less with more.
It's paying attention within and without.
We're more different, perhaps than we imagined. But find significance in similar things: love, kindness, acceptance and growth.
Accepting your kindness, accepting my own growth and remembering that in the end, it's only love that you carry with you.
Your heart is weighed against a feather, and if it's filled with joy and light, it is it's own reward.
Simply be happy.
I hope someday that I figure out how to make it just that- simple.

The toxic roils off you in waves.
Concrete heat, or
Wax factory drippings.
A grease housecoat that smells faintly of jealousy.
Of anger.
Of loathing.
Keep it at arm's length, a ten-foot pole or a thirty-foot drop.
Drop you like a hat, be careful and don't slip.
It's oily here. The kind you can't wash off.
Or don't.
A sidelong glance, tilted chin or narrowed eye
Reminds me to trust my own judgement better
And trust you less.
I may not be right, but I am not a tower to be toppled
No false idol
No conspiracy here.
Simply all of us doing our very best with what we have
And if that doesn't meet your standard of quality, and if I don't understand how your abrasiveness gets you ahead of me somehow,
Then I suppose I will go my way, and you yours, and we'll let the evidence speak for itself.