The Path

The path to myself has had, and continues to have many, many detours. But I am working on being the one I choose, every time.

we had

we had a date
and i took a long, hot shower
and i mingled w/ soap & shampoo
and i let the hot water melt my anxiety
and i dried myself w/ a fresh warm towel
and i bathed in cocoa butter & shea

i waited

we had a date
and i called you first
and we made it together
and i was looking forward to your eyes

i waited

we had a date
and i tried on every tight sexy thing
and i thought of your eyes
and i tested my stay-put lipstick on a pillow
and i read poems by june & audre
and i sat to meditate

i waited

we had a date
at seven
we had a date
an hour ago
and i read more poems
they were not about you

i waited

we had a date
and i thought we made it together
and we laughed & told story
and i thought you were kidding
when you called me intimidating

i waited

morning came
and you called
and i was glad i had meditated
you said you weren’t ready for me
you called me intimidating
your voice quivered under magnetic signals
i could see your eyes watering
i could see them shifting
and darting away from the receiver

i listened
and i waited to understand what you meant
and i stared at my hand
calmly resting on my knee
i got up to look in the mirror
and studied the shape of my teeth
no fangs
i examined the length of my nails
not sharp, not too long

we hung up
and i read poems by lucille & walt & joy

we had a date
and you offered your number w/o me asking
and you were glad i called
and you asked me where i’d like to go
and we talked on the phone for hours
and only exhaustion could get us to hang up

we had a date
and now we have space
space between your fear of my inspiration
& my desire to inspire you
space between your story & mine

this morning i smell my own delicious skin
i feel its smooth, buttery-ness
i hear poetry & love & resistance
swirling through my mind

i want to make love to myself

and i do
and i do

work in progress

Growth, whatever you want to call it, “the path”, our journey, ascension to higher consciousness. No matter the name, when you’re in the shit, it can feel unreal and even unbearable. Lately, compounded grief has led me to an unexpected soul awakening. “Am I living or existing?” Depression has haunted me in the past, but lately, I see life as a gift transmitted through experiences of love, deep sorrow, bliss and frustration. I do not judge anyone who beams while flowing through life and enjoying what there is to enjoy, but my soul craves growth, magic, and the gentle pursuit of fulfillment. Whenever I am feeling the weight of the world asking me to be emotionally brave, a butterfly pays me a visit. No matter where I happen to be, in the city, in nature, or sitting in the park talking to my therapist, a butterfly appears as a reminder. Metamorphosis is my modus operandi.

sputtering butterfly

I don’t know what to do with it
the hollow thud between my ribs
In the place where air is supposed to flow
a tunnel of fierce winds
   spitting monsters of doubt

The bomb of birth
searching for safety whatever the cost,
until we can no longer be fed

Then drop our bags, begin again
Try not to fall through the slats in the everywheres

Plunging towards the ocean on my way out of dirt
where thirst avoids the stream of evolution
with scorched tongue–create the words again
I am trying