Divine Intervention

**Disclaimer: my attempted poems do not necessarily reflect my own personal life experiences. The “voice” in the poem is not always mine.

I sought rest in you

rest from demons yet unnamed

you held me,

one of those am-I-conscious-or-am-I-dreaming states

it was real and incomparable

better than casual sex,

better than the kiss I’ve never had,

better than any morsel that’s passed through my lips

it made me wonder,

what have I been missing that makes my heart long for this?

is there a void I’ve filled with brokenness?

your hands, your eyes, your words

cradled me amidst strangers

and in a way,

we were strangers too

a woman and a girl

crafting a story,

a relationship that cannot be dictated by a Hallmark card

I wonder what do we look like?

someone thought we were mother and daughter once

I didn’t know what to say

something tender in my heart perished

only to be reborn again

I fell silent

listening to the ebb and flow, everyday life/death trauma

I don’t understand

I can’t comprehend

my brain is indecipherable

I suppose in the realms of human love

it doesn’t really matter

it makes no difference

if I can’t place a label on waves that seize me

I love you, that’s all

I realize we’ll never be kin

you are not my mother,

I am not your daughter

not even in a life lived before us

I know

I have a mother who took me in

I have another who gave me life

then I have you

what are you?

you are that story I can’t explain

unconstrained, out of focus

neither words,

nor flashing neon lights above our heads

could make sense of this common thread,

uncovered

sometimes I wonder,

do you regret taking me up on your shoulders?

you are a tributary,

trickling forth into conversations so easily,

delivering me back to that place of vulnerability,

an ocean where you found me

yet your name struggles on my lips,

swimming upstream in my throat

it’s the ebb and flow of missing you,

a certain tenderness pulsing beneath my outward appearance

no words,

no justice done,

no definition.

our otherworldly connection,

Divine Intervention

obsession, is

obsession is for the weary.
yet obsession itself never wearies

it grows stronger.

sometimes I think obsession torments me,
in its maliciously subtle ways
it ties my mind in chains
coaxes my brain into a delusion that
often protests but always obeys…

<3

My memories of him have an allusive delicacy, like the smell of rain.
I should’ve captured his scent in a bottle with a cork stopper.
Maybe then his fragments could take form inside my brain…

His face cannot be memorized, only dissolved with time.
If I had stored his essence in my mind,
rather than my heart,
would his image remain?

In rare glimpses,
I am able to imagine him again.
It’s like electricity running static behind my eyeballs,
a kaleidoscope afterimage.

These random, fleeting
dreams of him are a lovely thing.
Colors, contours, shapes and lines
it’s like stargazing of the mind.

Verbal Starvation

My mind won’t allow my mouth

the words it hungers to speak

My eyes are cages,

the world gets locked inside

Love is starved to bare bones,

and isolation thrives.

One cannot simply emaciate

Mutism.

Rewrite the Script.

she’s upstaged by her demons

lines stolen by a quiet, unassuming marauder

she’s found herself, a woman of few words.

what happened to a voice?

transmigrated to another- the ocean, maybe?

something inanimate but seemingly restless

with the uncanny ability to penetrate the heart and hypnotize the mind

let her voice rumble in your head-

haunt you.

a woman of few words, they say.

but I say, does the ocean sleep?

do the waves fall silent?

Neither do her words lay idle…

Open Your Eyes

I want to open my mouth and tell this story, our story.

I want to tilt the world on its axis,

and drip sunlight through the openings of the gaping seas.

Our lives have intertwined like colors in a kaleidoscope.

Peer through the lens, find all the treasure that lies within us,
Discover the treasure that lies within you…

I wish…

I wish I could feel like I’m worth something.

I wish I could sense God speaking to me.

I wish I could write poetry.

I wish I could laugh out loud in public.

I wish I could be happy with myself.

I wish I could wake up as someone beautiful.

I wish I could love you without letting you go…

[Insert Cheesy Metaphor Here]

This heart is an ever-reaching valley,
stretching deep amid the mountains, connecting them,
Tying the grandiose peaks together in glory.
Yet this valley is quiet…
I walk alone, and she comforts me.
Her fields caress me,
the grass breathing beneath me,
(something alive, solid, steady underfoot)

She is one with the sky.
The stars inhale; exhale, with the rise and fall of her chest.
The moon guards her in his indigo vastness.
She wants to bleed, she wants to feel,
She wants to become the rhythmic pulse of the earth…

Thoughts Running Freely Through My Head Without Commas.

In summer when the rain comes down in loose, free-falling bursts it’s always unexpected and sudden to me…it’s like the moment before a dam of emotion breaks, and I wonder how far the rain falls before I can feel it? How quickly does gravity pull the water droplets from the clouds and can I look up and predict the shower, before it cleanses me…splatters against my warm skin? I like to believe that the rain travels from many many miles farther up in the sky than the ethereal edges of a cloud. Like maybe it comes from Heaven? When I look up all I can see is sky, and scientists and astronauts have clearly proven that beyond the earthly atmosphere there’s a universe…a lack of oxygen but an abundance of burning masses known as stars…planets asteroids blackness and a moon that follows you in all that vastness, wherever you may tread your feet. I like to believe that precipitation comes from God after the dam of emotion explodes because even though He’s God He still cries sometimes…and since He’s God He could hold it all in, even if there’s a bursting blooming billowing paroxysm of water and wind welling up in His eyes because His heart is broken… Even though He’s God, His heart is broken and I’m no theologian saint preacher angel, maybe not even a Christian but I believe despite all my juvenile stupidity that His heart is fragile for us…even in its extravagant splendor… I know this because I’ve done it… Broken the heart. And I wonder how do I always rebel against the Love that delivers me trash the Love that saves me vandalize the Love that heals me? Maybe because God is there but He isn’t. I know He’s there but He’s on mute or low volume. And there’s a life laid out before me but it’s an earthly life, not the Light of Life. How do I find the Life you speak so highly of…the Life you constantly crave…the Life He made you desperate for? Maybe I’ll be made desperate too. Sometimes I feel desperate. Obsessive, crazy… But mostly I just ache. I ache for something real tangible breathing living…a heart beating… Maybe just for someone who has ached like me…someone to touch me and not shrink away or fade or turn their back or close their eyes to my intensity. Is it far too much, to ask you to love me? I’m a difficult person to love and I’d never expect anyone to but a girl can hope… Then again I was never that girl who dreamed of a white flowery wedding or a blue-eyed baby or a man or a happy ending or a picturesque sunset… All I really wanted was to be remembered and not forgotten…to die and remain immortal… To touch another person, touch someone in a way that they could never feel with their own family of origin or anyone else around them, for that matter. Strangers to strangers, hearts to hearts, pain to pain, humans to humans… Let’s examine what’s real. Let’s examine that thing that causes that ache within that heart, and let’s talk about it and reveal it in new ways that no one else had ever seen experienced pondered tasted… Maybe we can even heal in the process, who knows…
Back to rain how far does it fall before I can feel it before it cleanses me and renews the life on this earth? I know that rain is just rain not God’s tears…it isn’t sadness, it’s scientific rather…but then again so is God…

Alone.

I prefer to be alone,
every waking second we’re apart.
I slip into a fantasy and let my imagination entwine with reality,
the realest me there’s ever been.
I speak freely,
to bar stools at a counter,
empty chairs around the table,
abandoned wicker furniture on porches…
Everywhere there’s company
everywhere there’s you
And it isn’t so posed and plastic
And I’m not just pseudo-making it,
not just faking it
it’s real and pretend,
and yet all inside my head…