sometimes I live
in the past participle state
of what was
And I feel the rigidity of grief and loss
calcifying my bones
until they are brittle
and liable to break
the longing for a return
to sacred days
and the pain of knowing
the days will never come again
vulcanizing my skin
acclimating me
to all future weather conditions
no matter how tumultuous
or unexpected
I've spent so long
telling myself that a scintilla of doubt
is better than an abundance of hope
that self-abnegation
is better than self-interest
and I forgot how to
let things flow
to let things go
I drown out the good
with mental monologues
about how the world isn't safe
and I talk to the little girl
who worried that her brother
would not come home
and tell her that one day he won't
and you saw that coming, darling
you can predict everything
you can control fates
if only you'd stepped in
and other terrible lies of the mind
when the truth of it is
you can't stop rivers from flowing
or change the way the wind is blowing
you can't stop fires from burning
you can't stop the world from turning
but you should never let
the broken world turn you
so be at the ready
be a little harder girl
and yet I yearn for softness
for my insides to be sinuous
pulsating with a life force
that connects to every part
of the bodymind
the tender parts readily exposed
I don't like my razor tongue
that cuts in retaliation
before the words are lost
and I am weary of the vast selection
of masks I wear
to pretend and perform away my pain
and I am bleeding from
the sharp edges I create
with nowhere to go but off
I like to meet my monsters
under the light of the glaring sun
I like to soothe them
and remind them their work is done
I tell them they're no longer allowed
to stay, to slay, to lie in wait
in the shadows of my mind
I don't want to be exiled from
the beauty and the pain
of the disappearing present
or spend my life talking to ghosts
of the irreclaimable past
I want to stay connected
to all that is growing and changing
I want to wonder,
what if something good happens?
what if it all works out?
I want to feel the earth beneath my feet
instead of dancing on air
for fear that at any moment
the bottom will drop out
I want my soft white underbelly
to be force of strength
an unencumbered gift
a source of light
a birthplace of oneness
a reminder that I am
resilient and alive
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