wo/man’s intuition

[you gave me / the rarest bleeding / a hearty bleed / to save me
but what if it’s not real / how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never  knew real / if you were always pretending
now we’re here / a place that’s on high / the clouds here / are dark with your eyes
so what do you feel? / so how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never knew real / if you were always pretending
how do you do things?  / how do you see dreams? / how do you do things? / how do you see dreams? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling? / are you fooling?]

i wrote this four years ago during a run of gut intuition, inviting hours of songs being built at hearty speeds — forthright, becoming, enveloped, giving. and it’s been a while since i’ve been there, but the resemblance of my thoughts then is uncanny to my thoughts today.

there is a trust we have within ourselves that cracks the door open to worlds we can only imagine. but our imaginations are the only entities that push us forward into today, so even though they’re indeterminate, they still shape our lives with remnants of our own desires.

but accepting the doubt is just as important as accepting the good. because more than anything, we completely accept ourselves.

woman

the problem with the line / dividing me up / between the measurements i take / and the compounded screams my body’s chambers / make / is the simple fact that it makes me see / the atrocious fear your restless heart denies

my mind getting lost in the sanctity / of your eyes / blurring the space between / where you stand / and where i need to be

my pride in a pool on the floor / i wait for you / to catch up / to our start / waves of your echoes / rattling you / behind

faultless rains / washing us clean / yet you take / the first leave

out / to secondhand streams / a blinded sip / from a cup / mistaken

the place i already know

i’m constantly defending your love. fists of hope punching blind. difficult and forthright. my next-day eyes so small and dry, unable to sleep — squinting at dawn.

And for what?

So your eyes could focus and your mouth could hear? A pathway formed by the skin of my hands, watching and waving from the side?

Is it love that carries my weight or just the abominable well of pride? A birthright established from the first disappointment of light, too bright for a baby’s eyes. My lifetime spent climbing mountains of ash — invisible forms. A daughter only known from her mother’s womb, destroyed on that day in November.

Constantly trying to keep up.

So how do I get ahead? How do I ease the burden of being my mother’s child and erase the lines of her hands drawn on my face?

But how do I also accept my tired and worn unravelings, the lack of knowing of who I really am — a pain and suffering
while faking a mile from the start of a gun.

When all I wanted was to just be ok with knowing forever.

the fastest eater

sometimes the love just floats me. enough. and at this moment, it’s all i have left. it’s still the only thing i look forward to. the only thing that wakes me up and aligns the forms.

i’ve never had a reason to push beyond. not even enough reason from just myself. i’ve never felt enough for just me.

but then i look into a world, hovering in blue, and i peer into forever. where i’m distraught with the fear of letting go. and i feel this delicate balance i’m walking right next to — afraid of my tumble, my steps, shivering — and i see a look so pure that this world becomes a single flake, floating down. the slightest tinge of its cold touches me. my skin, then bursts with its spark, flaming my existence into a wildfire, burning everything around me.

so then, i know.
that i have to become. more into myself than i’ve ever known.

forever searching for the sound of his laugh. the one from his gut that strangles my air. pushing me to the front. telling me to hear.