Pear Trees
Rows and rows of pear trees
Solider effervescently
In the aura-dawn.
Their lines are the keepers
Of the dew-grass labyrinth
And the bungalow at their end,
For their fruit has been
The source of pride
For generations
Of soiled hands.
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Weather of My Heart
I collect little pieces of wonder and turn them into words. Somenings, my heart feels like early spring. Everything inside me reaches toward light before I'm even fully awake. Other days, it is overcast in ways no weather report could predict. I smile, make tea, do my things,
Where the Pines Keep Their Secrets
Perhaps i do not want healing Perhaps i only want a single place that asks nothing of me - not even an explanation for why i am so tired. Everyone speaks of finding peace, as if it were misplaced somewhere. I only wanted a corner of the world where my
The pain persists because..
Everyone wants to do different things to my pain - Label it, Intellectualize it, Erase it, Turn into power, Everyone wants to do different things to my pain, Nobody wants to feel it. Not even for a second, And probably that's why the pain persists.
I am all that I have, in this weirdly crowded but still lonely world
So many hands, But not a pair that can hold my grief for even a minute. So many hands, But not a pair that has touched my soul, in this lifetime. So many hands, But not a pair that can place understanding into my palms. . So many hands, But my