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Shuffling, sifting through pieces of a yester-heart

I writhe on the concrete driveway, singing

“what is it, where is it, what does it feel like!”

 

Through a thin sheet of eyes, one might find

contentment, a satisfaction with pride.

Bent over the “pleasure of men” garden,

wondering how of good intentions

this came to be.

 

And I’m too weary to think of the possibilities,

I’ll hand myself a cup, myriad of thorns and

rancid water, drink to fill my numbed,

damned, cracked throat.

 

(Future love, don’t tell me how rigid my

hands feel compared to the past.

Tell me it’s all right, that within

the torrid gaze of headlights a part

of me still sings.)

Happy New Year!

2016, to say the least, will forever be my worst enemy…and best friend. The more you sit down and take the time to accept and understand the wisdom and purpose behind all the ‘bad’ things and good, the pain of the excursion feels less unnecessary. We all lost something or someone this year. We gained gifts, we saw some incredulous outcomes. We’ve come out alive, yes–those of us who are still here–but have we come out on top?

I’ll be honest-I wanted to gain more than I did in 2016. More knowledge, more strength, boldness, candor, love, resolve. And well, I’ve found at the very end that it’s my own fault that I fell short. I fell so short, my skies are an inch from the ground. So, there’s that. Not everything you believe is true. You are who you are. You are who your Creator says you are, even if you don’t quite know it yet.

So what are my 2017 resolutions?

  • Finish writing short novel or poetry book.
  • Volunteer.
  • Save money for college.
  • Stop worrying so much about who I am and just be.
  • Let go of who I ‘want’ to be or I ‘think’ I am.
  • Reconcile with the ones I’ve hurt.
  • Love.

I made three playlists: ‘2016: My Year in Music’ playlist, exemplifying each month in a song or two. I started in January, so I’m glad I actually held out and remembered it, haha; a list of my favorite songs as of this new day, new year; and a longer playlist in which I hope 2017 will sound like.

 

Happy New Year’s Day, friends.

 

 

Love You, Never Loved You

 

For a while I looked for you

I thought I saw you in the wide expanse

The emerald grass, chaste moon.

I thought I saw you in the rosebushes,

The neutral colors and sing-songs.

I looked for you in the shadows, even

I looked for you in my heart and could

Not find you.

 

And one autumn morning I turned and

There you were, sitting beside me.

In this epiphany, I cried out to you

but oh my Love, how you shuddered,

Your lips muttering something “betrayal.”

Gave nothing but a gelid glance

And then your numbness took you,

Your legs up and left—leaving me  

Long lost to you.

l.f.

Shadowplay in the Moonlight

For a while I looked for a star to outshine my eyes,

A light to pave my way through darkness—carved out of thin air

And the will to know what it means to love.

 

The puppets took their show and pretended

Broadway against the whitewashed walls.

Inside and to the right, there I stood,

Watching in on the shadows out the window

And soon, from the end of everything I ever loved.

 

I never loved loved ones the way loved ones

Are to be loved. And in losing them,

I found myself pent stiff up against the wall,

My shadowplay playing out the act that

Left me cold.

l.f.

11/23/16 – Autumn, Overture to Winter

Impending streams
Watering the garden
Laid out by water from the sky,
Borne in the womb of spring,
Dried out by the Sun,
And loved dearly
After all.
They say fall is death, and spring, new birth. Even still I favor one over the other. Despite its drudge and lamenting deluge, the gilded and amber stained leaves fall from the green piñata at my feet, in my hair — lichens in my boots, rainwater in my soles — cleansing me so clandestinely. Whispers of coming cold, melted by sun-fire. The sunflower wilts, I hold and keep it safe, a lovely memory of what’s to come again, dead to life. The sun seems so useless, sitting behind the clouds. My pores scream for warmth, but my soul sings for more —
downpour in the trenches,
where dying life and dying and life happen so,
together.
Where under the same sun,
every seed dies before it grows.

10/11/2016 – rough diamond allegory

There was a time,

And never was there    a better place

To behold in such grappling possession  

What I found in the morass. Burning contrite embroidery on my skin. Round and rough, in fine cuts and scrapes I held it; the shrewd element of their design drew parables of faith from my failing veins. What I found there, beguiling and so rightly devastating, there and only there in the mud have I seen it; discovered it sitting there again and again. Forever and ever.

***

They say Joseph molded out into bone of steel. Molded in all senses of the word from the empty well to the nimble structure of Pharaoh’s storehouses. In all and overall he prospered though at times it seemed most contrary. It perplexes me so to imagine what kind of hope he stored beneath his rags in that dungeon for thirteen years. I have wondered and mulled over many a night in my torture, hoping to seize and swallow its grandeur. On one in particular, tentatively, I took hold of a thought, held it over my throbbing frame. It shook and stirred violently, as if someone fought to disperse its notion from my mind, leaving me unsettled, but by God, there in my frontal it settled. Quite nicely, a rough stone of sheer enchantment. But in the mud, it lay untouched by anything of adornment. Uncut, its rigid surface dazzled flames at turning under light. Flashing gold though it held no quantity, sapphire though the sky hid behind an unknown darkness, amethyst though it though it shone clear white, emerald though no grass swayed in sight. In elementary perception, I saw these lights as simply bending, light-induced. And no doubt they held such science, but no doubt, I saw a source as well. Certainly, light stood overhead, a lamp — but a lamp unlike I had ever seen it. A face bedecked in diamond fire, pure white clothing he wore, resilient as the sun — I concluded the figure just so, the Sun. Still and un-flickering, he spoke words I cannot bear to envision. A litany I keep in the navel of my heart. Stilled and beaming I sat up on edge, denying my cruel breathing. In the night, here my eyes foretell a story of my own. I light my lamp further and begin a thesis,

One of impassioned glory

That would become me someday,

“What he found, there in the bottom-well, is a rough-stone allegory.”