#6 healing poetry; DEFIANTLY…I, Am, Free

What if there were a love like sand?
Every particle glinting but also bland–
What if there were
someone who could find the extraordinary in the ordinary?

God, I want to sing, and feel the hot air.
The physics of my emotions beating small oxygen particles into shapes
that you can sense.
Then maybe, I would exist again.
If you could see me,
I would exist again.

Where is the space, I wondered.
As you wandered from the room.
Where is the space for moments,
plugged into the microscopic?
Breaths of this fabric hold both of us,
In a suspended microbiome of past promises.

You’re gone, in this moment.

In this, there is only me.
And the physics of my emotion hang suspended,
Like the breath before the word
Is spoken.

Rain taps the window

Gently showing me at first,

A different kind of life —

I remember the sun hitting the irises of your eyes.

The rain begins to beat against the window,

Rivulets run, panicked down the glass.

Packed sand.
I think. Something shimmering and safe was made from
packed sand, hit by lightening…
Lightening made you clear and strong
Lightening bound you
Heat made you – glass, that is just, packed sand.

What happens when you can feel the heat fading away?

If you’re scattered like sand, what makes you clear like glass?
Glass can break, however…and sand cannot.

A love like sand, without the shimmer of glass,
Would have so much to it I think,
As I watch the rain fall,
And my heart crawls back inside,
Where I kept it locked,
Before you arrived.

Just as glass can break, sand can fall
from hands,
unable to hold it.
Love like sand requires tender hands
to hold it, steady.
In his palm, in your palm,

I fell,

like desert sands in a desert storm.

I was never made
glass under his lightening stare.

I wish you had been there,
to see the physics of my emotions,
Become something un-bared.
You’d see me differently, I bet.
That is, if you recognised the shaking mess —

I never knew nakedness until
I knew he wasn’t looking
at me, even as I unravelled the broken pieces,
that I had kept so tightly wrapped,
to my breastbone, like a wishbone necklace,
hiding tenderness,
with shaking breath.

And I seemed invisible,

Am I invisible, again?

I wandered through the barren places of my heart
and found they were not barren.
They were not invisible –
They had just been waiting,
With a gentle patience,
for me to hold the sands of my unfolding skin,
tendons, muscles, and bones together,
with something akin to

The sands of my being sing…

Into the wilderness of
beingness that screams

– invisibility is not
my story.
And love is no desert sand.
And love was not in his, your hands.


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