out of fear.

light work

you have to remind yourself

to take a break from doing

“the work” sometimes.

remind yourself that it’ll be

there when you get back.

remind yourself that

you are human, you are fragile,

you are tired—sometimes

you need a moment alone,

to love on yourself.

miscarriage

yesterday

i could see

your heartbeat.

thump

after thump.

today

i am bleeding.

wasting away.

shaming

this flesh.

beating

my heart.

questioning

my soul.

have i ever

been good

enough?

have i ever

been worthy?

spirit says

cry today.

there’s a load

in your back.

there’s a brick

on your chest.

there’s heavy weight,

everywhere.

from point,

to point, to point—

healing hands are needed.

rough hands are needed.

you weren’t built

to house this damage.

each corner

full of clutter,

each wall

painted with filth,

the unspoken kind.

spirit says,

you’ve done a swell job,

getting this far along.

finding doors

with no mess behind them.

creeping through doors

not meant for you.

spirit says,

you’re encouraged

to cry today.

my old lady

i have regret

here with me,

chilling right

beside me.

resting at the

end of my bed.

we don’t talk

much, we just

sit together. we

run our errands,

we take our bath.

we hold hands

as we climb up

in love, or in lust

—it’s the ladder

that saves us.

the higher

the better.

the grey in the

sky resembles

true fate.

i have regret

here with me.

—i guess you

could say

we go together.

good woman

today i’m taking

a moment for myself.

sharing testimony,

or a testament.

here, things are lonely.

let me be the precedent

things.. are not good here.

i say this while suffering,

fighting, denying,

expiring; hoarding apologies

to myself from others.

protecting my truth

from falling on deaf ears

protecting what’s true

from falling short.

nursing distress.

feeding fears to the soul.

i resent me for it.

i’m protecting these blues

like they’ve been miscarried

like—i carry ’em best.

like—i held ’em

healthy this time

i think they’re fine here.

i save angst in my chest,

in my lungs, in my gut

i save it just in case—

i force it in a fragile place.

who better to keep it safe?

i can keep the guilt away

tucked, hidden

behind dirty habits

and foggy glasses

and tears on tears

on journeys that never

let you forgive yourself

only distract you

for the moment.

sunsets, that remind you:

i forgot to smoke.

here, hit that shit

write another.

inhale, then

let it out this time.

i wrote this letter.

in the evening.

i stood up til midnight,

during a busy time

to say “you matter.”

no matter how empty.

no matter how grim.

i felt i owed myself notice

for forgetting—me.

i casually

put everyone first

even when it hurt

i bit the bullet.

talked my way out of

speaking up. speaking out

talked my way out of saying,

“it’s been difficult to breathe easy.”

on the road toward mercy—