Little Bird Poetry

 "Why is it that grief cannot be a straight forward path?" I can't seem to comprehend  An arrow, shot from the bend of a bow is direct, Piercing, pulling, tearing, Slicing its way cleanly from one side to the other of my soul, Just like the day I lost you. What bitter games do the gods play, Is it to their delight to watch me find my way around and around with it? The same way we may observe a dog chasing it's own tail, A silly thing to watch them catch it, only for them to realize it was attached to themselves all along. I can't escape the loss, just like an appendage I feel I've lost, the ghost of sensations that no longer I am able to feel. I grieve an ever distant growing image of you. Like a photograph carefully preserved. I see the corners of your mouth turned up, the way your teeth dance across your lower lip, Hair ruffled in the way only my fingers could've been the cause of. Like the photo that graces the front of an end of life service pamphlet, ...

 It’s mid summer now The air has changed into a thick blanket Warm Humid Wrapping me like a small child in desperate need of reassurance  I feel coddled by the song of cicadas and the distance bark of dogs The sounds of the train rumbling in the distance that beats the tracks like my heart in my chest It brings along with it the dull ache in my chest Echoes not of just one But many come and gone I see you in the distant flashes of the heat lightning that strikes on the horizon  Silent Bold And so captivating I want to reach out and grab hold of it Intertwining my fingers with the tendrils of clouds I can barely make out each time the light flashes out Deeply desiring to feel the same strike in my own heart again I feel it starting to itch again That deep sense of longing Of needing Something to make my still heart beat Something to make my sluggish mind race I miss the comfort The deep feeling of being loved for more than the sum of parts that I am so quickly thrown toget...

How odd is it, to be haunted by someone who is still alive. How odd it is, even more so, to be haunted by versions of myself, whom of which some days, does not feel like to even still be alive. I reach, sometimes, to check my own pulse in some type of repetitive ritual in order to ensure that my heart, in fact still beats, even if it is without cause. I ponder purpose, quite frequently in my own musings and downward spirals, yet an epiphany of purpose has yet to strike.  Time passes yet somedays I feel like I remain rooted in place. Watching people pass by on their way to the next phase of their lives.  I'm so focused in on it that I feel like I miss my own growth that seemingly happens so slowly, it is hardly noticeable to the naked eye.  What is it, the force that causes the hands of time to march forward each hour, minute, second? What gives it the strength to move even while I can hardly find it in myself to tick on? Why watch when my own hands seem to just shake inst...

 Where am I now? A cross road of the multiple past versions of myself watching me from behind, the plethora of possibilities watching me from the front, every which way there are eyes tracking each step forward I take with a bated breath, unsure whether or not they should call after me or coax me forward, unsure of which way I should wander or run full speed towards, not to wander off and be lost, or run forward with the passion of lovers again reunited, where am I now? Within the realm of every possibility that really could take me every which way. Which way am I supposed to go?  I ask myself that frequently. As I am finally at a point in which everything is directly within my reach.  Not for the fear of failure, but the curiosity of what is to come. I have been the fool to dance in the court of men The servant washing the feet of my fellow man I have been the woman in black called to carry off the dead from the lives of others The trusted therapist for those who have no...

 I had a dream The other night You sat across from me The room was white Sterile in a way The look you gave me was one I had all but forgotten Kindness sat in the crinkles of your eyes Just like the way you used to smile when your told me you loved me It sucked the pain right out of my chest The warmth thawed the parts I had all but forgotten  “I’m sorry” Was the only thing I could let escape me Popping the cork from the top of the bottle of all the words I’d forgotten I wanted to say “I know”  The words echoed in the seemingly infinite space We sat for a moment Just like we once did In the space between affections exchanged “You know I loved you more than I could ever say”  The words cut through my mouth Threatening to have blood slip its way between the space where my teeth don’t quite meet “I know, I always did” Was the response that you gave me Your face depicting something I couldn’t quite distinguish “It’s ok.”  The phrase jerks me awake Leaving me to wond...

 Watching the train Moving its way through the mist The sun barely up  To just wake the dew on the grass I take a deep breath Of the spring air Mixed with the scent of damp clay I close my eyes Just for a moment Letting the rumble sync with the beating of my heart The sky is grey In a way that calms the soul  Familiarity brings peace  To my own inner storm 

 Is it too much To want to breathe the air inside your lungs  To have the over bearing desire to want to place myself under your skin Like an itch you can’t scratch Is it too much To want to hold the sides of your face Look into your eyes and see the time gone by reflected in one And the time I’ve missed in the other Is it too much To look back and want to squeeze the life from the memories we share Not through a text But to go back and actually be there? Is it too much To want to go back  And erase the earth that I’ve left scorched To be seated Watching the sunset from the porch Sitting amongst the slivers of the summer air  What I’d give sometimes to go back and be there What is it  That I’m supposed to do Is it too much To be so torn about these feelings for you?