the edges of myself

words, words, words

I’ve been moving through a lot of late.  The thing I notice about myself most notably is just how quickly I seem to be processing things these days.  What took me 12+ years just a couple of  years ago is now taking weeks, days, or sometimes just hours.  Some people might find it hard to …

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my beloved friend, without whom navigating the darkness and light might prove impossible. We’ve travelled together, lifetime upon lifetime in different configurations but always held by love to bring ourselves to this place of perfection each of us perched upon our precipice and dancing– filled with a joy that fear cannot begin to touch.   …

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poetry because it needs to be because my heart is already dangling so far out of my chest– does it really have to have a spotlight and soundtrack to go with it?   for my own preservation of expression– i find word weaving with rhyme and rhythm allows the story to spill forth as an …

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this is for me. a necessary part of my process this singular narration a weaving of words to give birth to these feelings welling within– unnecessarily contained. The worlds of trust you are teaching with your reticence and fear are miraculous– though not without bruises and bumps– sometimes maybe even a little blood. i know …

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i cannot compete with a ghost her hold upon your heart– gut wrenchingly precise.  keeping you folded– a neatly stacked pile of protection, save those tiny glimpses of trust. Nor can i measure against a sweet babe, her newness and discovery perfectly prescribed for your carefully crafted vision of lonely. My arms cannot extend past …

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a poem of sorts in that my hand is listening to brain unfurrowing my brow in allowance, an unleashing. i ate poems for breakfast when i was young– crammed them down my throat voraciously– bathed amongst them– allowing their words to drip from my body to dry. i dabbled in love and heartbreak at a …

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We are helping to heal each other you and i traversing this stretch of time, an unwieldy highway, hand in hand. Watching the layers peel away feeling lighter with each small forward step increasingly aware of the young boy peering out from underneath the years of practiced pain– contained because you knew no other way. …

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