Summer is my favorite season

I like how Summer feels

cool air blowing from a fan

perched on the windowsill

the humming of machinery

as it soothes the heat

my bare skin exposed to the elements

letting Mother Nature imprint herself on me

my body slowly becoming Summer

and Summer quickly becoming me.

endless possibilities

Maybe I’ll move to Mexico.

Maybe I’ll find myself

just to lose myself

and then find myself again.

 

Maybe this is the time to pursue destiny

and not stay stuck in the comfortable.

Maybe this is when I start a whole new chapter, or

maybe it’s an entire book.

 

Maybe endings are actually beginnings

and heartbreaks chances for healing.

Maybe I’m not walking away

but walking towards,

forward,

moving closer to happiness

than I’ve ever been.

 

Maybe mind can remind heart of reality

and maybe the only way to move on

is to move through it.

 

 

how to make a poet cry

there was a time when I woke with poetry

and went to bed with it,

a time when I walked the streets singing,

greeting birds and trees on my way

somewhere I didn’t have to be.

There was a time when I had time to waste.

When my biggest fear wasn’t failure

but unhappiness,

a time when I didn’t feel so overwhelmed by life’s daily responsibilities

which have come to feel like heavy shackles lately.

The biggest problem in being a poet these days is that when you’re looking for poetry in the daily

and don’t find it-

maybe because there was just so much to do (there always is),

you feel the burning question inside of you:

“what’s all of this for?”

and all the small victories and glories at the office

no longer hold any sense.

 

When the daily becomes the mundane

that’s the quickest way

to make a poet cry.

 

first light

I talk a lot about darkness because I’ve learned to treat it as an old friend of mine.

But don’t be mistaken-

There’s a lot of light in my life, too.

Light in people and faces, in places and spaces, light that comes suddenly and inundates my entire world in a second’s time. Light that comes in the shape of clouds, of $20 dollar bills found on a deserted staircase, light that comes twinkling down all around me filtered through big tall leaves. Light. So much light. The sun rises over my bedroom window and I lay beneath the covers and notice the golden streams of light dancing- first across my white comforter and then over my face, settling down to make home in my eyes. Sparkling light, new and bright. Virginal light, the kind that carries no shadows or hint of darkness. Because if there’s one thing I learned walking through it, is that darkness ends. Always. And then, there’s all the light. And aren’t you glad you stuck around to see it? You held on for all this light. Of course you can see it down to its atoms. It’s only natural.

Just because I have befriended darkness doesn’t mean I can no longer speak of the light. The light in his eyes when he tells me he loves me. And means it. And then the light in her eyes when she tells me I’m still her favorite person. We lost so much together when he passed, it only makes sense we rebuild our lives together. Brick by brick our love strengthening our breath, giving wind to our feet. Drenched in the light streaming through the big windows of the bar nearby, grabbing drinks and spilling quiet, reluctant tears as we affirm to each other in our silence that we’re doing alright.

Light.

I live in it. I just dabble in darkness sometimes. Perhaps just so as not to lose the habit. We’ve come such a long way, after all. Maybe that’s the biggest gift I’ve gotten out of all the loss: to be able to co-exist in both darkness and light and find beauty in it all.

What type of warrior are you?

Another dagger in the heart

You’d think by now that 

I’d have learned how 

to use my shield,

how to wield my sword…

Guess I’m just not

the type of warrior 

who fights off love.