This fractured heart is a bane to the sweetness of new love.
How can it mend if I can’t let him in?
How do I allow him in my shattered spaces, stepping on glass and cutting his hands?
How do I stop internal bleeding? Boundaries breached. Blood where it doesn’t belong, robbing my heart of the nectar it needs to fly free.
I was a hummingbird once, seeking my perfect flower. Orchid, Jade Vine, Lotus, a rare aroma to draw me in.
But all I found were plastic petals on empty vessels. No sugar dew to nourish me. No elixir for my soul.
Only the sharp edges of false foliage growing brittle in the sun.
Flying into unconscious jaws when I was looking up, in love with light, blind to traps laid before me.
How many times can I be caught before my wings are clipped?
How can I settle for the sun only on my flesh and feathers, so my eyes can see what is coming?
To be enamored with the colors and forget the danger of what lies beneath. A war in the soil.
Poisonous frogs and hungry lizards, waiting for the innocent flitting of the little bird’s wings to grow weary and tired, and seek rest in the roses, the satiating wine.
Will I find a field of fresh flowers, lush and alive in a circle of trees? The salubrious oasis my spirit knows exists?
Will I know it when I see it, the glimmer and sheen of the real thing?
Will you be my soft landing, my sustaining juice?
I plead you be the satin and silk for my feet. Rope me in with the code of your scent.
Let me drink your love's ambrosia and find home in the sanctuary of you.
And I will retract my wings and surrender into your blooming hands.
I’m a soul in transit, documenting the inner and outer terrain, often through poetry and prose, sometimes through songs, and occasionally through photos, essays, confessionals, and other mediums. This is how I breathe.
I wrote my first story when I was a wee girl of three, followed by my first poem when I was eight. I’ve been writing ever since as a way to cope with life. This practice evolved with learning in both structured settings and through the practice, itself. In my own healing crisis, I found a process I affectionately refer to as Poetic Alchemy. Now on the journey of getting my life back, I do this not only for myself but for you.
Creature Speak 