Nature has a way
of pulling us closer to the source;
my mind once like stagnant water
now a spring well of loving kindness,
warmth streaming down into my chest
and out my my skin in sunbeams.
This is real love;
thick with healing,
and I’m drunk from the call
of the wild side.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Sometimes the noise inside our minds
seems so loud
we don’t notice life
knocking on our locked door,
desperate to find us.
May I open all the windows,
drill holes in the brick walls,
take the roof off.
Let the universe shape its love into a whirlwind
and I’ll bless the way it messes up my hair.
lay down the weight which you carry,
nobody is owed the heaviness of your soul
and there are other ways to find justice
without holding on to the hard places.
this burden of proof doesn’t belong
to the heart that knows the truth,
whose body shattered into pieces
reflecting someone else’s shame.
name what hurts and let it be,
these wounds may be deep
but do not silence their screaming,
they were never the enemy.
who said you have to do this alone,
healing comes collectively, like a universal truth
and love, it’s time to come home.
You’ve been gone long enough.