anyway—on to better things

‏‏‎ ‎

i cried last night.

my wails were

silent but violent;

my tears soaked

my crumpled hair—

but it dried by morning.

‏‏‎ ‎

the sun rose today,

in a portrait

bright enough

to make monet

swoon. sunrises

would mean less

if night’s darkness

didn’t come before,

and summer

would lose its

heat without

winter to compare.

‏‏‎ ‎

there’s beauty

in this world;

every night

ends with a

sunrise. and

every morning

i get to

try again.

how blooming it is

to have legs.

‏‏‎ ‎

my legs are

thicker, stronger

than branches. they

keep me unstuck

even in quicksand.

‏‏‎ ‎

i weep storms

for the trees.

their beauty is

rooted where they

did not choose:

i am blessed

to walk and feel

where best

to plant mine.

‏‏‎ ‎

wishful dandelions

are free to blow their

opportunistic seeds

in my soil;

but by grace of

tomorrow’s sunshine,

i will uproot myself

and try elsewhere

if none do.

‎the Rain Cloud

above my head

caressed me.

i fell asleep

while She loomed:

constantly reminding

of storms past and

those still brewing.

‏‏‎ ‎

She holds me tight

and makes magic

of my tears—i become

oceans, tides,

and waves; they sing

in melodies of gratitude

for their

joyful renewal.

‏‏‎ ‎

i hear carols when it rains.

i vibe to the

notes and tunes

of reopened wounds

i thought once healed.

‏‏‎ ‎

give me

tears,

belly cries,

and shouts:

we’ll plant a garden

with pain—

just to water

with drops of

approaching joy.

‏‏‎ ‎