constancy - a quality i do not (yet) possess

rolls

black-sea waves (on) my conscious.

sun-bleached sand discovers my dancing

toes and barricades itself

against

my calves.

constancy

soaks my skirt,

promising

blush-pink sunrises (and)

forget-me-not sunsets.

salt, like old age,

colors sun-streaked locks white.

where is the key?

Jesus walks (on) water

while I am knee-deep in sand,

indigo waters sputtering out my nose.

constancy splashes

moon-smudged

salt-water in

my eyes.

(i am) not a

“cow let out to pasture”, just a

salt-encrusted half-drowned girl

learning to let

constancy, her black-sea waves,

lift my feet and carry me to

the inevitable coral beach towel.

full title: the sky is blue even at night.

Dear little heart,

Today is the day taxes are due, and you finally paid the piper. You welcomed 2018 with a tilted glass and fuzzy socks, surrounded by your grandparents and family. Remember those moments when life gets hard...

because it does. God help us, life gets hard. You need to slow down. Pushing yourself to do everything harder/better/faster/stronger doesn't lead to easier/innovative/meticulous/gentlier, and there is a hushed strength in that too. That's another thing:

stop measuring your strength by how much abuse/punishment you can take. You're not helping yourself at all, no matter how much you think you are. Want to help yourself? Try

getting to the gym. You still measure yourself by your weight and you need to stop. Little heart, I know it's hard. But you can do it!

YHWH sings victory over you. YHWH sings joy over you. YHWH sings rest over you. YHWH sings success over you. YHWH sings healing over you. YWH sings over you.

Little heart, you can tighten your laces and shake your sunshine hair. Next time you spend time with your grandmother, remind her how much you love her. Say it again and again, until her smile is real. Present her with chocolate soufflé, and tell her of the time it took you to learn to make it for her.You don't need to

do everything yourself, little heart. I know you feel this pressure on you to be perfect, and I know that you lay awake at night, squeezing eyes shut and pushing fingertips in your hair, unable to shake those thoughts from your head. You know, the ones

where it's just you on your dirty knees, wearing a pillowcase like it's enough to warm you? The ones where you're bowing in front of a shapeless shadow and whisper "my sir"? The ones where you're physically punished between your legs and have your secret sensitive spot burned off? The ones where you're cold and afraid and filthy and delude yourself into thinking the shadow loves you?

Stop.

I know you're scared and the thought of sleeping in a closet is somehow strange and comforting.

Stop it anyway.

You haven't met your Special Someone yet,

and that's okay. Please stop pushing your nightmares and insecurities onto a man you don't know. You're not giving him any credit and you're teaching yourself that abuse is acceptable when it isn't. It's so easy for you to

stand eye-to-eye with the abused, holding their muddy hands between yours and demanding them to stand up with you. It's so easy to you to promise others that they deserve wonderful things. It's so easy,

but why can't you do it for yourself? Give yourself time. You're still healing, little heart. Hold yourself gently, kiss your own bruises, draw your own baths.

Love,

the-half-beating-heart-of-a-dreamer

don't you dare

step to me

hissing

"you'll never leave

you're weak

i'll crush you"

bitch.

never trust a

survivor

until you know

how they

survived.

i've learned

to leave--

square-shouldered

lifted chin and chest

raised middle finger.

i've learned

to absord strength

from kneeling

and being hurt.

don't step to me

and think i'm weak.

bitch.

i'm queen of survivors

queen of thrivers

queen of alive.

this is the dress i

wore to my

grandfather's funeral;

black fringed silk veil

covering my hair;

black velvet belt

around my waist;

black suit fabric

swishing around my ankles;

black stray threads

creeping out of my neckline;

"do not sew

the lining to the dress";

i didn't read the fine print

before i hemmed;

my grandmother's eyes are

dry and heavy-lidded;

heavy fabric hangs off

an ever-shrinking frame;

black silk veil

is still too heavy on my hair.

the music of raindrops

on a lake

at midnight

does not

erase

prayers

profanities

petitions

that spill

from his

eyes and

lips.

Once upon a time,

Writers

learned

To close the book

and say

"Goodbye, Old Friends."

i miss you in every word i [don't] write about you.

don't think that i didn't [forget] the joy.

don't think i don't know the truth [about] us.

don't think i know how to love [me] anymore.

is it weird if [i] hold on to hope?

that someday, in the [still]ness of the morning, i'll look up and see you.

and i'll remember what [love] meant to you then.

and i'll remember what [you] still mean to me.

and i'll finally be able to smile and say, hello. 

let's never say goodbye again, okay?

i am learning

anew

every night

to 

wrap myself 

in Sorrow

and Mystery

and Solitude

and Silence

and 

sigh myself

to bed

where

Loneliness

waits for me.

i am learning

anew

every morning

to

staple a sparkle to my eyes,

a laugh to my lips,

and a wiggle to my walk

and pretend

sunshine is everywhere

and there is no snow

over my toes.

but then the nighttime comes,

and i lounge into frostbite

that covers the windowpains

of my soul and

stains my fingers blue.

such a lovely color.

such a lonely place.

she is there is the absences, she's the one pulling the cords tight across my wrists and ankles and smothering me. 

yet every time i pull free and try to push her away my arms pass through her like fog. she holds back her laughter but it shines around her dimpled smile. 

she's enjoying this. 

she's enjoying watching me gasp and writhe for air, for love, for relief from the relentless sorrow that laces my bloodstream. 

she's enjoying my pain.

and now i'm enjoying it, too.

but how can i write letters and send flowers to being who isn't there? how can i romance her? how can i plan a life with her when she. isn't. even. here.

i have tasted

both

Love

and

Loneliness.

now,

i am learning

to spurn 

Love

and 

curl up 

with

Loneliness

to hold me

close.

i sink

back into 

Loneliness,

her arms wrap

frost over

my eyes

and hang icicles

from my heart.

i have learned 

to love the way

her eyes sparkle

in the dark.

i have learned 

to love the way

her cold breath

sends chills

down my spine.

and

i have learned

to love the way

she is never 

really there.

it's just me.

at 4am.

pretending

Loneliness 

and Love

are one

and the same.