No love lost

You are right
I have thinned out
my collarbones write themselves on my pillowcase
my fucks have taken shelter in my marrow
removing their bulk from my hips
and this is something I am ok with
I feel safer in less of me
than I ever did in more of you
so I will take this restructuring
it is better than attempting to carve myself out
of shadow each morning in the bathroom
that mirror that taunts my silhouette
plays trickster games on my eyes
I am still trying to put away the pool of bluing
that wants to make bruising tracks on my face
With each sunrise it gets easier
hate and love reside on different sides of the coin
that blister brands my hands
makes it nearly impossible to be kind
to my shoulder blades

I wish I knew how to weave tapestries
that showed themselves clearly to your eyes
but I will have to settle for
shadows in mirrors and on pillowcases

whiskey stained nights
strengthen my marrow
I will continue to whisper
moonlight intimacy into the corners of your smile lines

I may find the conviction that will lead me
out of the heaviness
or I may lay down, tiled blinking
lulled percariously peaceful
by your familarity
either way, at least my knowing
tells me this has so much more to do with me
than with you

I am not bullet proof
metal shield girl
but my backbone is steel crafted
my wrists hold lines that secure
what once wanted to float away

my story slowly unravels
from blank black and white
each turned away face 
helps me understand my own spacing

Holding Out

If you knew the future,
would you live the same?

I have seen glimpses of what is to come

all fire, intimate hands,
unsent messages

I am hiding under the bed waiting for the past
to sleep
hoping letters of love finish smoldering
trying not to smother
there is never any knowing
if the aching will subside
be subdued
time is not a magic wand of healing
no matter how many coins
are thrown into the youth fountain
the spark will always show in silver
there is no deciding in which road
the heart will travel
even if the road is colored with familiar
sometimes there is no such thing as forgetting
that face will become a ghost of haunting
dreams are made of betrayal
and sometimes so is your own body
bones reform into questions marks
will not show conformity
the bottom of the bottle
still does not hold the answers
yet it will continue to be a siren
open veins will lead to the redding
and inside your own encasing
is still where you are the safest
it is truth that some things never change
though the outside will be reborn
over and over
with no understanding of why
inside is more frozen
and those hands will be hot enough
to burn

Still Clinging

We all need to be seen for more than
 skin and bones and
a crooked smile
more than scar tissue
more than the past that continues to cling
wafting like an unwelcoming
need to be seen down to the marrow
the softest bits of us
yearning to be held in hands
that do not tremble
it can be hard to realize
that you too are stardust
wings unfolded
hard to get past the choked throated
apologies that hang like an empty clothes lines
equally menacing in their valuelessness
know that questioning does not always attempt
to manipulate, its just that the answers
reenforce the threading
after bearing walls so thick

all that is delicate is almost touchless
the hard still warm in its familiar

Anatomy

You are not made up of scar tissue

you are a pulsing pumping heart

the veins of your bluing are brighter

than your transparency

I love your velocity

you are conviction

ride that wave you splashed

we are gratefully soaked to the bones

would be sun bleached, flaking dust

if that was your creation

standing in confession is more sacred

than the entirety of saints

whispering of your guilt

nothing could bring a fault line

in the foundation of this trusting

we are suspension bridge bounded

bonded

gilded children of the broken

our hands are not tongue tied

let that language be 

the string that unsmothers

our mouths

Book

It will be a while before
I am able to forget to take the jar of tears
from the bookshelf
placing it in my chest each morning
my habit, has become my ritual
there is absolute comfort in knowing
this bit of familiarity
there is nothing wrong with craving
release from the cage of conformity
most see this as a Destruction
yet I know this as Healing
I will take the bundle of apologies
bury it deep beneath
the bookshelf in my living room
give it back to the shadows
light has graced me with the insight
of what serves
and I'll keep the salty jar
its home is calling

Wild

Our hearts are wild things
that why are ribs are cages
grief can shake the organ until it
comes out through eyes in silent, tear-less sobs
racks a body with gentle violence
a bird that has lost its song
some can only stand wide open
door with a vacant
 lock
cannot be shut against the incoming
needs to be filled to overflowing
winds carry desired arms in rigid embraces
that aren't quite enough of enough
longs to know when it will carry those with strength
to hold a heart with too much vibration
lines are beginning to show in bruised rose shadows
 choking
dancing is the only valid expression
but it comes only on backs
laid to the jagged ground
hands permanently stretched to the
 heavens
mouths sticky shut
can let out only in smoke
Gardner, you know who you are
don't allow flowers that bloom in gallant moon soaked air
dissipate much too quickly
deserting in one last
 confession
open your wrists if that is the only
road left to the bluing
that maps to your cup
that is trembling
 thirsty

Glances (Collaboration with a friend)

Thoughts travel along the road of curiosity.
There have been plenty occasions where a taste of the others
flesh raised an eyebrow.
Shy quietness.
Eyes locked & felt... observing everything.
Never has there been a strange moment,
comforting tokens help with arriving back to reality.
A beautiful friend to confide.
A scent of nature's inner being, unable to hide on certain days -
when a glimpse is captured, arms wrapping, signifying "until next time".
The mind wonders along the trail of processing secret naughtiness...
while loyalty of our respected paths run deep, the devil within wishes to
sink its teeth gently, kissing your softness into pieces.
Those days, possessing desires to creep away - a fire reflecting your face.
If priorities didn't exist, chasing you would provide such a worth...."

You, my unexpected friend, shield this mind from wandering thoughts
shreds what lingers if left unsaid
the most intimate connections come from those that are
the most different
encased in wrappings so unlike our own
we must enter into each passing moment with eyes wide open
because that moment could be the one to bring
to our hearts what they do not even know they desire
You tell me it will be okay
and somehow I hear you through the caged beast of my ears
which stills the wings that frantically beat against my ribs
Because of you I know that one day love will find me,
not as a sun-bleached pile of bones,
but warm, thriving, pulsating
Sustained on a certain kind of love.

Unimaginable Humanity

I work at a homeless shelter, and sometimes what we do never seems to pay off in any respect. I'm not talking about me feeling good about myself because I helped someone out, and so now I can sleep at night, not that kind of payoff. This is the kind of job where clients end up living in shelters, more specifically our shelter, for years with no end in sight. People resist housing due to chemical dependency, or mental health issues, or sometimes it is related to family issues, and sometimes the person simply doesn't mind their lifestyle, in fact sometimes it is their choice.

But then there are those people that we do not even realize want, or need help. We can get stuck in our own beliefs due to the environment we work in, the types of people we see, and we create our own stereotypes that we then categorize these people into. It can be the most draining work in the world when you cannot figure out how to assist someone, and they can't tell you how either. Today something happened that turned all of this upside down.

There was is a client that has been in the shelter for a few years now, he has been homeless for almost 20. Somewhere along the line, he lost contact with his family including his daughter. This could be due to his drinking habit, but honestly we are not exactly sure what ever ends someone up at the shelter. He is also Spanish speaking, so the language barrier was also an obstacle.

Anyway, I digress. This gentleman has kind of flown under our radar for a while now, but we had a new case manager start a few months ago who happens to be fluent in Spanish, and he picked him up. After a while of talking with the client, he found out that the client was actually very interested in trying to reconnect with his family, but no longer knew were they are located. The client provided the case manager with the last phone number he had for his daughter. After a few phone calls, the case manager was able to locate his family.

It can be challenging in these situations, because sometimes the family wants nothing to do with their long lost relative. Sometimes the family doesn't even realize the person is still alive. In this case, the latter was found out to be true. When they found out that he was alive, and well, they jumped on a plane to come the shelter.

This is the event that has forever changed my perspective on social work, and even more importantly, on humanity. Yesterday morning while juggling phone calls, client requests, staff requests, and the other million things I get to do every morning, I was stopped dead in my tracks.

The case manager walked in with the clients family members, including his brothers, his daughter and his grandchildren. They are asked to wait just a second, and I could already see the tears on their faces, and feel tears prickling at the back of my eyes. When those people saw their father, brother, grandfather, all the usual noises seemed to switch off. His daughter approved him, and ever go gently rose her hand to his face. Everyone else then made a circle around him, enveloping him, re-welcoming him back into their lives. While they all cried, held their chests to keep their hearts from beating out of their ribs, he stood there with a face-cracking toothless grin.

My co-workers, and I who are used to hiding strong emotions began to cry. Hot, wet, silent tears created streams on our flushed faces. It seemed like they stood their, simply soaking in the presences of one another for hours. The embraces never broke, they moved almost as one as they exited the shelter. The client's daughter did stop, and hug the case manager so tight I thought I could hear his ribs crack, and before she left she came to the desk with her hands covering her heart. She thanked us many times. I surprised myself by reaching out my hands to embrace hers, and went to say "your welcome", but nothing came out of my mouth. We both nodded to each other, and she went to get to know her dad.

the first shadow

Starting this blog has been a long time coming. I have continually gone around, and around trying to decide if I was ready to put myself out there for all to see. Luckily I have made the first move in jumping off the cliff I have been looking out over for some time now.

Writing has become my form of catharses, a way for me to shake the shadows from my being. Mostly I write poetry, slam poetry to be exact, some of which I plan to post here. It may sound clique, but writing has saved my life more than once, and I am sure it will continue to play a vital role. I hope that what I write here will speak to someone out there perhaps inspiring creativity of any kind. So to who ever is out there, thank you for reading this. I am excited to start on this new path.