Reader/Writer Connect

South of Zuni

—

I gave her patchwork. Hard and ugly, but coated in love. He was not the first home I had mended, nor would he be the last. But I always loved a fixer upper.

I got a hopeless romantic terrified he was in the wrong story. Days and nights spend rummaging through the pages, past and present. How could I convince the main character that this is a memoir.

I gave her someone who relied on himself rather than stars. The brightest light guiding him to happiness, a token of his mind. Reality rooted in faith for what he knows, rather than in something he wants to.

I got a heart created and destroyed by the same maker. Trust lost in the uncertainty of intentions. Words that can never be unsaid, ringing on in the shallow echo of a night’s dream.

I gave her someone who sees the damage that can be done if he does not love more than he fears.

I got a lover, I gave her love.

feet first over our fates

radiant and moony.

Our alligated rivers

I understand my logic Is torn and unfair But that’s all we’ve ever known My jealousy My hurt Is not for her Looks, or Love, or lust But for the respect You so easily give

The things you give her I prayed for myself And though I will never receive Nor want to My inner heart wonders What she did to earn That Love so easily When I gave everything For just the chance

i will sleep on it tonight

next to your voice

i will rise before the sun

to hunt her breakfast

then disappear

back to my woods

with one stomach's worth

of dandelions and lemon juice

Ringing out cries of

Battle horns and laundry

Lines left to crackle and lash

Out in steady anger

We are footprints

Scuffed on tall tales and

Digging water from wells for

Underwater locked boxes where

All maps lead to molehills

But hills lie empty, indented

For can-holders, map-bringers,

As the man hunched on piles

Of tarnished marble and gold

A traveler of uncharted roads, 

it took an entire galaxy to weave, 

the stardust into her untamed soul. 

In an exquisite combination, 

of empathy and grace,

sewn into her demure veins. 

She is the soft whisper, 

in a forest full of history,

the crashing tidal waves, 

in a deep ocean of mystery,

To know her is to be seen, 

Walking the aisles

Is a breath of fresh air

My soul is restored

I feel alive again

The books

Pressed cover to cover

With a million stories between

Feeling the spines

Smelling the pages

Hearing the soft music

Heals.

My heart and my mind.

Seeing your old favorites

And finding new ones

Heals.

Being between the isles of the aisles

Heals.

It must be nice to have all that power,

You hold over me.

I wouldn’t know,

Because I’ve always loved too hard.

Some say I’m gullible,

Naive.

Empaths crack beneath narcissistic weights,

But the jokes on you, baby.

I gave, and gave, and gave,

And you only know how to take.

Your cup is never full,

I know,

Because I poured myself into it,

Until it overflowed.

Now we’re both drowning,

even after

we parted ways

we loved

one another

till our dying days

.