Half of me
stares, unfocused, at nothing in particular.
I, her, we
dissociate.
Pleasantly warm,
feeling nothing emotionally.
Mentally, I remain in neutral.
How good it feels
to be nothing at all!
Half of me
flips rapidly through a rolodex of stories,
half-baked daydreams.
If only I could catch one and live it out,
mentally be in that scene
until it's enough for me.
In living that scene,
I also escape these feelings.
I get relief
from myself
in my head.
And when I see you my heart crumbles to dust. For as lovely and healing as I am, you are as fearful and wounded. I am sad for you-- how painful must this be! I am sad for me, but I know that while I am deserving of love, this
I didn’t go to the party for this moment. I stayed home to sit by the window-- cat on my lap, writing by candlelight-- so that when the sky opened up, I would be there with the window open, to let the warm petrichor waft through. I skipped to
Who is she? This woman within, who I keep fossilized, buried under years of dirt in the sand that packs my soul. How could I let her become forgotten? Exploited, abandoned in man’s endless conquest. When did the rest of my being grow so dry? I once was a
I am a willow tree in your family’s yard, my sighing boughs dancing with the wind. I supported your tire swing, watched you laugh and feel free, celebrated with you in your peaceful moments. I hid you from the outside world, when you wept beneath my branches, seeking solace