Week 23

I need to write again
To create all on my own
To make words dance in front of you
And me
But it isn't easy and I forget how.

I lost it when I lost you,
I forget how to birth and create love
It feels so distant from me
Such a far away land
It's not even on my map.

So here I wander
Looking for it, for truth.
The creator spirit
Has left me for you.
And it is difficult to rationalize
And as much as I try
I cannot stop feeling dead inside
But alas, I must write.

So what's a girl to do
When she can't sing the truth?
She writes and hope something happens,
Something magical happens
To her too.

Week 22

We went for a drive last night
to capture the northern lights
but they weren't there
where we could see them.

I rolled the window down
and stuck my head out the window
with the breeze blowing red on my cheeks.
My hair danced
the stars were bright,
I sat there
confusing clouds for those elusive lights.

The cool air felt fresh
unlike every single emotion
that was recycled in my poor stale heart
I wish every night felt like that,
Leonard Cohen crooning in my car
on a broken speaker,
me falling back in love with you,
you already loving me.

That one night isn't enough to last a lifetime,
but maybe we can start again
one night at a time,
until before we knew it,
it lasted the lifetime.

Week 21

I'm where you left me.
It wasn't a good place at all.
I don't even know
why I wanted to be here to begin with.
Was this place that different with you?

It seems that all my fears have come true
and they seem have come true with you.
So I'll stay here
where you left me,
alone but not truly so.
I will take care of it,
build it up
maybe move some things around
so if you came back to where you left me
you wouldn't recognize me.

You would walk around
and right there in the air,
a touch of familiarity;
the scent of soap and
late mornings curled up beneath a blanket
would tingle at the base of your neck.

And I would walk by,
a stranger,
right where you left me.

Week 20

There are times
I cannot behold
my own mysteries.

Why is it that when I go to church,
sometimes,
it feels like my soul is ripped open
and I am laying there naked
and afraid
and whole?

They say I have the gift of tears
but many times it does not feel like a gift.
They burn in my eyes
run down my cheeks
wet my shirt.

Oh for what love do I ache?
For what sense of wholeness
do I long for?

And what if it is never to be found?

Week 19

I think about him,
His smile,
the way his eyes close
when he leans in to kiss me,
the way he says my name.
My brain says, "Not for long,"
and I try to convince myself that
it will be okay,
I will get by.
I'll miss him when he's gone,
he awoke something in me that
I completely forgot existed,
a simplicity of being,
a sense of excitement
of entitlement
to like, love, and beginnings.
I did not stop it early
and it might already be too late.
I do not care
as I hope to hear from him
early, late,
anytime the next day.