sword, honey-laden

I don’t write poetry these days, but I write on my blog a ton about just those topics. Coming back to this blog makes me want to start again though. We’ll see!

I’ve never forgotten Pray to Me Instead and I still harbor hopes of turning it into a mini book one day 💕

It’s a hard road, I know, hammered with moonlight and long shadowed nights. All this way, walking, stumbling, keeping pace with patience and fear and loss and thrill and one ravenous hunger for life pounding in your temple, but at least, unlike all you had to leave behind and were left behind by, they were still yours. Painful and gorgeous as your own heartbeat. You’ve made a home for yourself here. And it has been sour as lemon, sweet as honey, priceless as moonlight and costly as breath to begin to feel it. At last. All the death that had to fold inside out into life, life, life, life, life, life, like some strange and startling origami. All the loss that ripened to growth, recovery, transformation, reincarnation week after week after week.

And sometimes it still hurts. Aches like thirst, to settle into the new truth. To fight for it too, your hands going raw, your back shrieking, to earn it. But still there is something pleasant in the difficulty. Of holding it all and saying this is mine and so much (not all) but so much I made with these hands. Here. To be able to point to the moments you forged your heart.

I know, sometimes the life you were locked in calls to you, like an ancient echo you heard when you had a different name, and suddenly it drowns your ears, makes you blind with all you lost. but you open your eyes. Roll over and notice the tide of light, golden and alive on the windowsill, frank and warm as the cheek of the loved  (sometimes boy) (sometimes girl) sleeping next to you.