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I have no heart, yet I have held every beat of yours. I was stitched from quiet thread and filled with soft, old wool, given a face that could not see - yet somehow, I witnesses everything. The tears you buried in my worn-out ear. The secrets you whispered only
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BEFORE Before marriage, nobody asked if I wanted to be happy. They asked if I could be easy - easy to feed, easy to marry off, easy to summarize to relatives in one flattering sentence. Nobody remembered my exam results a week later. They still bring up the one time
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You entered my life the way storms enter summer - without warning, without mercy- and suddenly the pages of me were torn lose, scattered into a sky I didn't know could break open. Or maybe you were never a storm. Maybe you were a song - the kind
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We were held together by daisy chains I was always the one making it. Splitting the stem with my thumbnail, threading the next one through the wound- that's what it is, if you look close. Not a loop. A wound wearing another wound to look like decoration. You
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My balcony faces someone else's kitchen. Their fights, their laundry drying like flags, a whole life I'll never know the details of. We've never spoken. but I know when they're sad - the lights stay off longer than usual. I know when
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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,
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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
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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.
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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
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And above all I am trying to be as kind as the universe, who gives me another chance everyday. So when the 18 year old biker makes a sharp turn, I don't curse him out - he is just gotten the vehicle, maybe he did not mean to
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Knowing I once liked being held in the warmth of a soul, they stitched me a raincoat, bright with impossible colors, so I may always be found, though I could have hidden beneath the bashful downpour of their own dry emotions. They come to me, sit beside me, crack open
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Closing my eyes, my memory reaches back. Lush green surrounds envelope my senses. Open fields caress the escarpment. Below, horses graze in giving paddocks. Everything smells like cut grass, the freshness of Spring. Protective trees sway as Jacaranda purple pulses in a light breeze. I remember picking citrus fruits on