Courtesy of Pinterest

I am practicing erasing
you from my
it is not

Made of Love

At such an odd angle, I realized that I have a scar that is somewhat shaped like a heart. If only you guys could have seen me trying to tilt my head, fidget with my wrist, and maneuver the phone to get what I think is the best shot I can get of this thing. LOL. Maybe you can see it too, maybe not. Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

wandering eyes shift toward
a scarred wrist.
from years ago, fate
was sealed.
I think to myself,
“how did love end up here?”
I tilt my head…
I flex my wrist…
I find myself searching for
a connection when the connection
is already there.

slowly, I guide my hand
into the light,
lean into its luminance
and nod in approval.
if this is not significant,
if this holds no mark of welcome space,
if this is not proof that
I was made to love,
then I do not know what is — or
what will be.

I try to capture its shape.
I share it with loved ones,
they see it. and they don’t.
and I find myself smiling
at something so odd yet
a mystery too.
my body’s home to this flaw
and I do not recall the origin.

but, it is here.
as it sometimes appears on buttered toast,
as traveling clouds, and
in crumpled pieces of paper cut,
folded, opened, closed, and re-opened again.
my reminder, that if there is
only one thing I assume to be
my purpose in life —
and will always be,
it is to love.

Because I need to market my work a bit better, I have logged onto Instagram. If you so choose, follow me here.

Steep (An Audio Poem)

hot, decaffeinated tea…

Steep (An Audio Poem)

2 months coffee free, sober to
your antics, my eyes
open, the light is here.

no longer am I blind to your
cloak of disapproval.

bold and transparent, you are revealed.
I got out before you could
pen me in.
before my heart could break again
before I fell deeper than
the waves could carry me.

I won’t lie, there’s no need for it.
you still fill me up,
your scent, steeping in my skin–
the more I smell you,
the harder it is

to get clean.