You have my word

One word can change your life.

Tag: dreams

I will never call you raven, black bird

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You are the night sky when I close my eyes. This is where I find rest. Your chest cages not one, but two hearts – a sacred space for dancing beneath the stars of all you are. Vast canvas, stippled with magic that’s been missed too easily by those who only chased bright lights. But not you – I could never have missed you. Miss you, yes, but.

Not a chance I could have walked right by without the magic and the moonlight calling out to me for one last love affair with darkness. Pure and peaceful shadow. Gentle. Warm, contrary to how it may look. Ebony grace, not startling or reckless. I will never call you raven, black bird.

While riddled with myths of death and despair, nevermore! – or at least not in this poem. You love all the hells out of me. I traded them in: others’ sins for your hands and my heartache for your skin. Black bird, sing your dark melody and use your wings in this dark dance beneath your evermore sky.

So I close my eyes not to sleep, but to wander in your dreams. Perhaps we’ll meet. When the days are too bright and burning with the busyness of doing, I’ll blink and you are there. When the sun forces shadows into spaces where there should only be music and air, you’ll be there.

My black bird. My night sky. My love affair. My dance; my song. My magic; my moon. It’s all you.

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Fall asleep in the airwaves

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I don’t know if she’ll wake up. I keep my lips close to hers so she can take my air if hers is stolen. She takes my breath away. I give it freely to make space for the place she deserves in my chest.

Her chest heaves with the creaks of years weighted under worlds and wars. She has conquered them all. I lie next to her and wonder, at what cost? How many lives has she lost to find her way home – to sleep in this bed.

Rest now sweet warrior. Rest in peace but not in death. Let the armies carry your guns. Let the children pick flowers for your hair from branches higher than they can reach. Let other mothers lift up your hands. Let me kiss the top of your head.

You are one with my breath. I will watch over, walk with you. Will you let me catch you if you lose your ground? Let me hold you in the grip of your groans while the sky breathes heavy in the dark?

Do not go gentle into those empty lies

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Please stop coming to me in my dreams. Please stop curling up defenseless with me while I’m asleep. Please stop filling me with your memories. Please. I can still feel you. Move. Please.

I’ve moved forward; I’ve moved on. I’ve moved so you wouldn’t find me standing still. I have spent all this time being unfrozen, melted to stay away from you. Running. Running water. Free flow. Free. Free. You freeze me. Hard.

I have found value in soft, smooth strength. Slow. Not stuck fast. Slow down, baby, and find yourself. Find your fears in your own night’s sleep. Befriend them – know them and you will know yourself.

Dreams rest between terror’s teeth. Get up close. Tremble with its breath on your neck. Stand up straight. Hold your head high. Do not go gentle into the lies you’ve become comfortable telling yourself. You are done with these, love.

There is nothing left for you in those lies – there is no you left in those lies. Life. The simplest adjustment and you’ll come into so much… more… without me. And that is what is best.

You belong to you. I belong to myself and my own dreams and sleep and peace, and you do not need me. It’s okay.

For the first time I don’t feel guilty for you walking away. I’ve drowned my doubts in those dreams. I am enough without your memories.

I wish you well. Now sleep.

Dreams and beasts burning hotter than the stars

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She is alone. This has been her fear all along. It is dusk on an open road and mountains and unmoving turbines and the moon.

There are more miles between here and there than she cares to admit. She won’t admit anything. The abandonment. The inadequacy. The wedding that shouldn’t have been. The affair. The family. The abuse. The divorce. The abandonment. The abandonment. The child in her arms that isn’t hers.

There are many beasts that walk these streets – bigger and burning hotter than the stars. The scars on her hands show how busy broken messy busy broken she has kept herself. She has kept herself. To herself. Toward herself. Away from herself. Abandonment. Tired. So tired.

She is alone. Alive but alone and what is living when you can’t hear another heart beating?