glue traps

i take one step
and the ground shifts

like memory does

when you beg it to stay.




the world spins

the dervish turns,

the wheel grinds

& i stay glued.




once more,

the stone beneath the threshold snags my foot

as if it, too, was carved

to remember my stumblings.




the world spins

the dervish turns,

the wheel grinds

& i stay glued.




a rat in glue traps,

squirming for direction,

for a god unmoved by the dance of it's drowning.




whose hands spun this fate

so taut it strangles my sighs

before they’re even born?

i am held hostage

by the divine jest of becoming.

how do i walk to my beloved

with hands steeped in tar,

with knees bloodied on doorsteps

that never learn to yield

i am both bruise and salt.

both ache and the hand that causes it.

tell me

what worth is a soul

fate will not claim

nor death release?




to be still is to decay,

but to move is to be swallowed.

and for mercy i whisper

into the ear of my beloved,

that he might remember my dust

before it joins the silence he never breaks.

floodlights

i was a river,
eager to belong
to banks that stood still
as i broke myself
trying to reach them.

you were monsoon
sudden, sovereign,
spilling into me
without asking if i could bear the flood.

i don’t know where this came from
this ache shaped like a prayer,
this love without a name
that still reads like a scripture.

when you left,
i became storm warnings and swollen sky
a girl undone
by someone who never promised
to stay.

love became a desperate chase
a hunted animal stumbling
through thorns of regret and fear,
caught between want and withdrawal,
between sacred fire and slow decay.

and yet,
somehow,
you did.

through laws, through distance,

through silence so loud,

the rhythm of my becoming thrummed like a secret

and you came back.

isn’t that absurdly holy?

i still tremble

at the thought
of what was never mine
yet shaped every soft part of me.

maybe i loved the power
before i loved the person.
maybe i loved you
before i even understood the word.

perhaps it wasn’t love,
but the illusion of orbit 
to revolve around someone
so radiant
they seem celestial.

but if you could only inhabit
the aching observatory of my eyes,
if you could only decipher
the script etched in the margins of my chest

i wish you could see
through the wet glass of my wanting
how my heart built temples
in your name
without ever saying it aloud.

                                     maybe you’d stay.

                                                          or maybe you’d still leave

but at least,
you would carry the knowledge
that somewhere,
quietly,
unreasonably,
without claim or permission,
you were loved
so much
it nearly
killed me.

between fold and flame

over cheap psychedelics

and too much booze,
let me see beyond
if only for a while.

let the world tilt,
not into chaos,
but into awe.

let my eyes
drink deep
from skies so clear
they taste like forgiveness,
like nectar
for the soul that forgot
how to be still.

let my body
feed only
on mountain air
spiced with pine
and woodsmoke,
chapped lips,
and unbrushed laughter.

let my mind
bite into the bread
of this hamlet’s friendship
torn by hand,
                                                                 passed in       a circle
                                                              of almost            strangers
                                                        who speak in            half-truths
                                                               and whole       warmth.

i want to trust them
these strangers
with tumbleweed limbs
and names that flutter
like dandelion seeds
before they land in my mouth

to cradle
a version of me
still wobbly in its wonder,
still warm from the kiln.

let their unfamiliarity
launder me in moonmilk,
make me new.

let their words,
like feathered teacups and sugarless riddles,
soften the hermitess in me,
till she slips quietly
into the folds of morning.

and for once,
let me not ache
for what’s left behind,
but for what’s
just
about
to begin.