Sitting is Good Too

It’s ok

You don’t have to be alone today

I can be here

With you

At the same time

And share this space with you

So the ticking on the clock doesn't consume your thoughts

And the hollowed out wall doesn’t swallow you up and consume your thoughts

And the mean people inside your head don’t talk their talks and consume your thoughts

We don’t have to talk

We can just sit

And be

Two simple minds

Two simple matters of existence

Two shared beings of mama earth  

Rattling our cores

Thumping our hearts

Feeding our bellies

We can just sit

And when you're ready

If you're ready

We can fly

To Love Yourself

Photo By John Boris 

She had these eyes, right?

These big round eyes that pierced

That spoke truths

That she learned to cross stitch herself

With a pattern that she found on the bottom shelf of aisle 12

labeled “to love yourself”

Real small lettering, real loose, real round

The kind of lettering that dresses itself to the 9s

That sways smooth into its lover

And dots itself with cinnamon i’s

She came across it when

She was looking and searching for a part of herself

After the eyes she had been looking with were washed

One too many times with smudged fingers

After her world collapsed onto her shoulders and her legs sunk into the soil

After she felt her seeds were no longer
Strong enough to grow a forest rooted with thick tree trunks

And big leafy homes

After she wrung her thoughts so much

Like wet laundry

That her skin was hanging loose on the clothes line

And her bones were sitting in the corner

Drying

Waiting

Waiting for that fleshy bit to wrap her warm again...

She holds onto that pattern

As a friendly reminder:

To love yourself is beauty, baby

your whole self

your faulted self

your ever growing

ever sprouting self

You are beauty, baby

the artist survives

city life hopefuls with periwinkle dreams
sing to the stars perched atop evening window sills
stone cold living, concrete calluses with fluttering hearts
butterfly wings nestled in warm silky capes
our DNA dresses the night and greets the morning sun
tonight we dance
tomorrow

we also dance

Majik Mama

witchy woman standing in the corner of the sky’s little black box

thick thighs with treasure trove eyes

midnight silk laced in liquid crystals

she is moonsong

she is daybreak

she is the feathered dust

trailing behind shadowed silhouettes

dancing starlit swaying to and fro

ancient spirit with a quiet glow

electric pulses feed her fingertips   

as she sprinkles pixie majik

into your lost lonely heart

Amigo, Ayugo, We'll Still Be Friends

Photo By: Henri Cartier-Bresson

I think we’d be good friends,

You and I,

The very best of friends, in fact;

Two peas in a pod,

Two falling leaves on an autumn tree,

Two stretches of thread interwoven like braided bread.

This world's full of people,

Billions, I hear,

But you and I,

We were meant to be

The very best of friends.

And if we ever fall out of touch,

If you go this way

And I go that way,

If the moon you're glowing with,

Is the sun I'm beaming at,

If your footprints are painted upside down,

And mine are on the other side etched right side up,

I’ll tug on your string and wait for you to signal back.

Yin n' Yang

Photo by: Henri Cartier-Bresson

I knew a man who rustled in his sleep

From fighting ancient wars with dark creatures

That constricted him at his knees.

He held strong sometimes,

He fell straight sometimes;

He won battles,

He lost battles,

He felt the second hand click

As time jumped into his bed

And tussled with his sheets.

He unlocked his brain to unhinge his thoughts,

And unraveled his skin to crawl out of his flesh,

But when he woke each night,

Pained with a sweat,

He knew the moon and the stars,

The sun and the clouds,

Would greet each other again,

And the days would go on,

The earth would dance circles around the clock,

And it would all come to an end.

But I also knew the woman who wiped his furrowed brow,

And traced the constellations on his face,

And swayed him gently sweet,

And sucked the poison from his dreams,

And sewed the wounds just at the seam

So as to feel him heal.

Cry Baby

Photo By: Saul Leiter

She cried sometimes.

Some days more than others,

Some days not at all.

At times her tears were thunderous;

They passed through wells miles deep

So passionately, so violently,  

The belly of the earth rumbled

And did a heated dance.

But more often than not,

They were soft,

They were gentle,

So hushed, in fact,

They silently rest beside her,

So as not to disturb her,

As she grappled with

Lions,

And

climbed mountains,

And

chased fireflies,  

And

Rummaged through picture books,

And

Marveled at future books.

She cried in colors,

Beautiful colors.

Soft palettes of

Pastel pink and  

Dusted red.

She cried,

Because

She was feeling glum,

Because

She was feeling angry,

Because

She was feeling a laughter tickling her tummy,

Because

Words simply couldn't suffice the

Movement that was rattling inside her,

That was shaking her bones,

And hugging her blood,

And tugging on

Her putty-like heart.