I fell back down so hard, I almost thought I’d found it

And then on a quiet Sunday I had nothing left to give

I was still my earthly self—ashamed of my wanting

When I noticed a crack in the wall above my kitchen sink

from where a row of ants had emerged quietly one after another

Marching in a line, tiny antennas twitching, searching the ether

and all at once, a deep and profound understanding shook me

In that moment, I knew without question to be alive

is to seek and thirst and hunger. For the first time

God showed his face and I was compelled by a voice

unlike any other, coaxing me to make peace with my desire,

to remain wholly intact as I was intended—gladly imperfect—

with joy give myself up to the inevitability of my life

A Love Letter to Poetry

There is a voice inside your head

With whom you speak every night

And this voice you hear in bed

You often hear without a choice

And it sings to you as sweet as song

And will ask you nothing in return

If you’re alone it stays by your side

a part of you that will never tire

And when you write, it will rejoice

For poetry is a love letter to that voice

Ask the World

When you can’t find a single soul to carry your poetry to him—you must ask the whole world instead.

Mistress

His work is his mistress

He goes to her

sometimes for hours

sometimes for days

I know where he is

the minute I lose him

in mid-conversation

She’s never far from his mind

His fantasy girl

Stitched from memories

of past lovers

real and imaginary

Someone

The work is sweeter when it’s done to the backdrop of love. The ambient glow of knowing you are safe. Someone to bear witness to your creation. Someone to hold your hand.

Men

Men possess us like demons

like demigods

We revere them

We despise them

We chase them

We run away

We pretend we are stronger

than our desire

but we let them move

into our bodies

occupy our minds

bleed the strength from our bones

drain the charge from our spines

Men make us or they undo us

like time

like life

like love

they give us everything

They take it all

To Understand

I am only writing to you now, my sweet, because it is such a sad, sad time. And when I am sad it seems, you’re the only one on my mind. The only who knows the truth depth of the deep dark sea, who has traveled as far down as me.

From the start we were bound by sadness and everything else—but you cannot live with someone who is so much like yourself. So, I am reaching out to you again, with my small, anxious hands. Because today I am not looking for kind words or platitudes—but for someone to understand.

The End of Love