Tell The Others I’m Spoken For (Nature’s Bride)

Tell The Others I’m Spoken For (Nature’s Bride)

I waited for the signal

of birds professing that the day ahead

was waking from her slumber.

There’s a peace in the dawn

that guides us all; an opportunity

for the heart to lead

before we’re all supposed to rely

on the ritual of speech

and I open the gate to greet my selves there.

It’s early enough in the morning

we aren’t required to play whole,

chasing the shadows that unfold

as the sunrise serenades us with its daily composition

but always different shades

of purples and pinks and greens.

They change with my heartbeat,

wind caressing my skin

in time with the gentle blues.

Nature; the lover I’ve been missing,

the world that lays itself out for you.

Homage To The Pit Of My Stomach

Homage To The Pit Of My Stomach

We struggle with our work-life balance;

argumentative for whose role it is

to digest and process

what expresses itself as hunger,

announced with a drum roll

and buried deep in golden soil,

why do you always have to make this personal?

Maybe others are sympathetic to your plea

but you stand on shrinking nerves

I didn’t know existed

in those parts of my body,

how dare you show up so naturally.

The site of all egocentricity;

I used to fear your twisted interior

except now I see that sometimes

the things we first think look most pretty

are all but empty of substance.

Loving you takes courage;

a round of ‘love you, love you not’,

plucking chance petals in the absence of knowing

that every flower which grows here is edible.

Left hungry for dessert and a loving touch

but asking for more was always asking for too much

so this mouth chewed on stinging nettles and swallowed air for lunch.

Does it come as a surprise that sometimes I just don’t believe in you?

I go along with it,

because other people, like my therapist,

want me to explore this pyrophobia,

my fear of playing with the fire in my belly –

the ‘shining gem’, manipura, the yellow element,

source of healing power.

Self-worth perfected in the heat of the kiln

which I’ll use to burn this house down.

Inhabiting Woman

Inhabiting Woman

Maybe I should create

a map of my body;

points of interest,

places you must let it rest on this journey,

how to enter gently

then navigate my often swift exit,

the sites to discover

if you wish to taste it.

The shape shifting politics

and picnic spots of pleasure earned

with plot points to measure the distance

between where you are and where I return.

We’re both still learning the history of this sacred ground,

how to light up every speck of dirt,

the scale played by her buried treasure sounds.

This travel guide is as much yours

as it is mine,

tourists of the divine feminine

contouring her design.

Smoke The Peace Pipe

Smoke The Peace Pipe

You have never truly held yourself

until every part is loved as truth;

the overwhelmed, the undernourished, the misaligned,

you are always unfinished business.

So kiss each with equal pleasure,

lips better spent on self affection

than speaking of self loathing.

Welcome home each particle of your being that never really left

but was silenced by the unenlightened mind.

We, wild spirits, being all at once in this one life time,

found here like some long lost siblings, my everything alive.

X Marks The Spot

X Marks The Spot

The seats we sat on,

mine precariously, cross-legged but not comfortably,

balancing the weight of something both new and nostalgic,

the way you took off your denim jacket,

the way you fidget with your wristbands out of habit.

The cups we drank from,

yours plastic, mine ceramic.

I think they sensed the flush from our skin

when the ice in yours melted,

no attention paid to how they tasted.

We all knew, me and you didn’t show up for the coffee.

The ground we walked on,

mindless pacing yet purposeful.

Were our steps in time,

following the trail of crumbs through our past lives?

I’ll mark each stop with a cross,

treasuring the map that sends us round and round in buried circles.

Vigil #2

Vigil #2

I am still not accustomed

to being wanted for my company,

so used to hosting men

in my bed and this body,

the universe expanding

as somehow my space becomes erased.

To be asked what brings me pleasure

should be so everyday.

I may not be convinced of my beauty yet

but I can believe that I am safe,

even as my deepening breath

begs for armour

or out of habit, sleep hesitates,

both waiting up for the decision my heart makes

to trust the hands that hold me.