the edges of myself

words, words, words

You, who will drop everything for a friend, or even an acquaintance– set aside your plans or desires without even the slightest look back– or thought for SELF.   She has taught you a very lopsided version of boundaries– barriers perhaps is a better word– walls which are programmed to spring into action when the …

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I think it’s important I be up front about this now– before we traverse this path any further and then you look back at me incredulously and say– “hey, you could’ve warned a brother,”– so here’s your warning: I am a fiery bitch. Sure, I can be sweet and tender– and I’ve tapped into loving …

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Today you brought me soup. It was perfect, although its precision had nothing to do with the gift and everything– with the giver. Stretched out across a lazy afternoon, fingers running along the lines of your face– through your hair. my honey-coated throat– happier with you here. The sunshine poking its rays through my window …

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Revealing myself fully– pulling back the curtain– surreptitiously pulled tight so many years ago– the reasons scattered around amidst the dust bunnies and dead flies. here i am. this is me. a little silly, perhaps. ¬†and maybe overzealous at times– but who could have it any other way? I wonder is it who we are– …

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just two young babes when first our voices met seeking out the harmony amidst a sea of melody. Immediately we fell as only children can– making promises and plans far beyond our capacities. As the years unravelled, we held tightly, clinging to the familiarity– a warm soothing blanket– the gentle knowing unlike any other. We …

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my beloved friend, without whom navigating the darkness and light might prove impossible. We’ve travelled together, lifetime upon lifetime in different configurations but always held by love to bring ourselves to this place of perfection each of us perched upon our precipice and dancing– filled with a joy that fear cannot begin to touch.   …

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poetry because it needs to be because my heart is already dangling so far out of my chest– does it really have to have a spotlight and soundtrack to go with it?   for my own preservation of expression– i find word weaving with rhyme and rhythm allows the story to spill forth as an …

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this is for me. a necessary part of my process this singular narration a weaving of words to give birth to these feelings welling within– unnecessarily contained. The worlds of trust you are teaching with your reticence and fear are miraculous– though not without bruises and bumps– sometimes maybe even a little blood. i know …

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