Anemones love me

Lover, this is not just another poem. This is my goddamn revolt. I am done holding my tongue like a bible. There is too much war in every verse of our silence. We have all dug too many trenches away from ourselves.

…’cause anyone who has ever sat in lotus for more than a few seconds knows it takes a hell of a lot more muscle to stay than to go.

Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

You are in an in-between, in a world with no memories, so forget your hands and what they’ve done before. Forget your fingers. Float in this kingdom. Be the kind of brave you’ve only ever read about in books, then be braver than that. Be boneless, but keep your spine. Bend and bend and bend yourself into a bridge that you haven’t burned yet, then cross it. You are more than you thought you were. Unbroken and perfect, healing like the bruise on your knee, singing like a hymn where the only words are “I saved myself.” Swallow the old world. Swallow the darkest it’s ever been and then keep it down until it surrenders. You are here now. You are here and you are the forgiveness in every mouth. You are here, and you are glowing like early morning. Welcome back. Welcome home.