Collecting nectar

Years later and I'm thinking we could get much higher.

Waiting for you GIRL

Inspiration was at its peak but this moment it's tepid.

What could be the beauty of the female?!

Her strength.
Her light.
Her spirit.
Her magic.
Her ability to grow from broken bones

collecting nectar from heartache
and
crying salty tears of joy.

Fruit juices

You say you are craving fire. 

So we stick our fingers in ash. 

Your fingers smudge and paint my face,

And I'm making a circle on your cheek. 

Laughing. 

Eyes glowing. 

Fire burning. 

I climb on your shoulders since some things are just too far out of reach,

Then we trade starfruits like candy, green, yellow, orange gold. 

Raw-ing and roar-ing. 

But we are still laughing. 

My hands are juicy, 

My face is sticky and painted by your hands. 

So cut open the pomelo,

before I lick my fingers from mapled bananas!

But you said you liked the starchy plantain,

So I gifted you one in your hand,

And we laughed. 

Delighting in the fruit juices down my back and the energy of kindred souls,

Laughing tummies and possibilities of that heart skip and tingle of joy. 

a familiar gathering

Late night at the tea house, and the scene is familiar,
lounging on velour couches, fire place roaring behind your ethnic scarf,
massages and exclamations.

someone holds the key, it's dark, and 2am.

She is blond, thin, and talks about contortion.

I sit, muscles straining behind my skin, body loosely moving to the moroccan trance music humming in my ear.

An hour before we sat on a different couch, speaking an old language, the words were rusty on my tongue, so I spoke softly, and listened to your worries.

An hour before that I lay on the plastic grass with another you, laughing at the absurdity of high school, and shaking mini acorns in our hands.

It was a late night at the tea house, a glimpse of another life.
Butt creaking the springs beneath the velour chaise as I gaze up at the oddities and found objects.
I wonder, 'what is here for me?', since spirit did not bring me to this moment by accident.

My heart aches to feel the skin of another, but I don't want it to be with you or you.
But this is the work, since judgement comes, and I'm a familiar face at the gathering,
since i've been here many times, in other cities, with stolen faces of those who became friends and more.

There is something terrifyingly eerie about feeling comfortable in any situation,
since i've been a part of every gathering before.

We dimmed the lights more,
I hugged goodbye to you all,
said I'll see you tomorrow,
and I will.

another familiar gathering,
it always begins this way.

praise

This one is short, sweet and laced with geranium scent.
I am grateful.

Blowing kisses from my present moment to yours.
Thank for all my light-filled friends who fill me with such joy.

It is rare when we actually recognize that we have everything we have always asked for,
that's because it usually looks different in the now than how we watercolored it.

This rings true, and the truth really is, that I love you.

I love all you who I can laugh with, all those who have held space while I shattered my heart, all of you who dance with me on lonely streets, your touch, your stories, your sporadic texts of meaningless words.

This one is short, sweet and laced with geranium scent since I deadheaded what was not needed and I'm here with the over sweetened petals, blowing kisses to you, since life is better here knowing I have you all in my lives. 

Sun Worship

I call them, "my little sun worshipers."
but so would you if you saw them rejoice fully in the heat of the noon day.

I eat the sun for breakfast, and then I braid my knotted hair, stick needles in flowers, and create garlands of light for you to enjoy.

Still, I mourn a loss of knowledge, as if there is a smog between me and the very thing I desire.
I wonder, is this the natural instinct of the perfectionist?

So I say no, no, rah, rah

I will begin when I know fully and fully never is the tune of the day, so I leave dreams dormant, cover my blemished face with 1000 Roses and pretend that the scent of the fume is good enough for me.

Well I'm stating loud now,
It is not good enough.

I keep my sun worshipers in a dark drawer so they stay moldy and crusted.

We can laugh here.

Now stop.

The time is here, it's droplets of oil on my tongue, clear the toxins, I'm re-awakening to sunshine and the dancing of hips.

All I need is string, needles, wire, local farmers, seeds and some imagination.

Let it flow sister,
the priestess path is open,
and one step, one step
you are grounding in her.

Lifting arms up to YAH, I surrender,
in the flow of this sun beam
terribly in awe and
beating insides saying YES BLESS this day!

Are we grown ups yet?

I sit with a stuffed monkey; he's furry, funky, likes bananas and has terribly long arms.

We talk about building sandcastles you and I, goldfish swimming backwards and we never did know each other's last names.

I climbed a tree once with a boy who rode motorcycles, we kissed and then said we could cross that off our list, then we climbed down and never spoke again.

Some nights I hug a baby doll close to me, her sickly sweet smell reminding me of her plastic parts as I forget about my organic insides.

I had a fear once that I wouldn't laugh anymore if I married you, so I broke your heart and ran miles away. I don't regret it.

I like make-believe, climbing rocks, jumping waves, running and screaming.

On the Fourth of July one year I ran around the gazebo with you. We ran so fast we almost flew, then we chased each other down the street. I didn't want you to kiss me. A week later, I let you in. A week after that we ignored each other like we were 10. We were 22.

You said hop on my handlebars so I did. We raced down the hill, I said, "this is trust," you let go of your hands and said, "no, this is." Then we crashed, rolled over on pavement, blood and dust.

I tap my fingers on screens to connect to something greater, I share my smile on dating apps, I text anyone who responds. Sometimes it's nice to just talk to a stranger. It's nice to have no history and no future.

I still sneak chocolate from the fridge like I did when I was 4. Back then I left the wrappers in the couch, now I bury them in the trash.

I've been known to spill my water glass out at dinner, leave crumbs on my placemat, forget to clean up my plate, let others do the cleaning up.

I prefer dancing and giggles, holding a warm body close and making up lyrics to songs.

There are days I don't laugh, and days I don't play and they are happening more often now.

I always said I just want somebody to swing from the trees, climb walls and surrender ego with.

Pushing past the should be's, could be's and are's, I'm perfectly clear that I am wildly refreshing in my outlook and present-ness.

I slap my leg at Pixar movies, hand lingers in sour gummy bag, I pull out a friend, bite it's head off and then say, "sorry." Since I find it all amusing.

Yesterday you said you were essentially 5,
And I said I was 5 too.

It's easier to be friends that way,
And I just want to play.

Add 20 years and I wonder, am I a grown up yet?
I hardly think anyone is, it's false pretense
and I don't like to lie. 

The words we never spoke

I heard once that the words we do not speak out of fear is pure violence we inflict on ourselves.
So she branded her chest with these words, since she vowed never to succumb to the choking.

And she walks proudly, knowing that everyone can see her own violent past,
But not today she says, today I roar.

She is the lioness of truth.
In honesty she shares her wisdom
Word by word flows from her heart through her throat, tonsils, tongue, lips into now.
And you will listen.

You know her strength by the way she looks at you, empathy filled eyes and sparks of knowing.
She stumbles through her lengthy monologue since she never did know what she was speaking of, until she speaks

So the words come.

To you and to her both for the very first time.

And she knows what would happen if she closed her mouth
The words would get trapped, passageways into unknown wrinkles and creases of vein.
Blood thirsty syllables and truth clogging the airways.

She knows this violence.
Self inflicted
But all too clear.

So she branded these words on her chest,
Since reminders to be in love with self come every hour on the iPhone,
But nobody listens anymore when it rings,
Unless it's a tinder response,
Then heart flips

And loving herself is the last thing she remembers.

Tattooed, raised bumps tell her the truth of her misdeeds to self.
And even if she blinded herself with over zealous sex thoughts of future lovers
That will never be future lovers,
She could feel the quotation on her skin.

'Remind me to love myself,' she tells herself.

And then in those quiet moments of understanding,
She asks simple questions and owns her power
To her
Core. 

Gasping for air

It came to me this moment:
I feel like I'm drowning, and I'm not even swimming.

And memories of wild dancing in your desert air make it all too much
And I swallow this water, choking
Choking
And gasping for air.

I miss my friends.
The ones I don't know how to call and the ones whom I regard with such respect that sometimes I am too much in reverence to play.

I'll bet they think the same about me.

That is why we never talk.

We dance together though, and a lot.
In festival gatherings wearing borrowed clothes and smudged faces to ward off the evil eye.

I painted one on your forehead, then we smiled.

I must have loved you.

I could not have disappeared for two years,
I must have loved you.

And the earth and the fire and the rain drizzle down.
And I can feel our pounding footsteps on the hot sand.

The tented nights, the starry skies, the wonder globe of
Being in the tribe.

I don't see anyone from my tribe here
So I feel I don't belong.

Do they miss my dancing and my laughter as much as I do?

Turn the music off, it's making me sick.
Spinning me back in time to a me and a place that doesn't know where it fits in current me.

I got rid of all my festival clothing.
I wear black again now,
But this time because I'm in mourning.

I know a part of me has died, perhaps drowned somewhere in that desert.
I'm nostalgic and I'm terrified of my memories.

I'm gasping for air in the open field and I don't know which way to turn.

So I turn towards the water, the western boarder, the horizon line.
Since maybe if I stare hard enough I'll find myself flailing in the ocean, just in time to drown myself completely.

Mikvah'd and refreshed I'll aliven into me again, and then I won't shake next time I hear that drum beat song that I sang too many times before and I mean it when I say I can feel it in my body in my spirit and in my soul, and that is why it is too hard to handle now on the couch with my blanket and my chocolate chip banana bread. 

Awe and the wonder child

What is this wonder child?
She sits in bed, eyes dripping something, and it's not a salty tear.

Suppose she crawled in the jungle with the chickens,
weren't we all free not too long ago?

Turning and whirling in the waterfall drips, mossy remembrances, and something that looks gold, but is worth far more.

This is the re-centering.

With the gore comes the sheen, and the stitches are invisible, can you tell?
We cover our bare bodies with symbols and brands,
I wonder, am I good enough for this judgmental world?

No.

I am not even in this world.

I am the child within the rocks, the nectar of floral hymns and the hum of the bees.
This is where I reside, and it is full of AWE, wonder and magic.

Suppose she crawled in the jungle with the chickens,
we both got caught in the madness of running around in circles.

this rings brighter.

Avocado smoothly caressing the tongue, tinctures that break the bottle since they are so potent and something unnamable, this is the moment.

If fear is awe in disguise, and awe is fear than I live in a constant battle of mis-understandings.

Oh how Awesome is this place!

Full of something greater than the sand between my toes, but it feels soft and I don't clean it off.

This is the day that You have made, and I will be glad and rejoice it!

Suppose she crawled in the jungle with the chickens,
well she did.

She cawed, and clawed, bit and spat:
rummaging through this pile of unbranded clothing, and all I see is texture and torn fabric.

I want you to know me.

This child who runs in creeks, and swings off the trees,
she is still somewhere hidden in a constant game of hide and seek.

I am seeking,
I am re-awing,

finding the me within me,
the essence within the ego,

because jungle walks are nice and all, I prefer to leap! 

The way appears

a commentary on, "as you go on the way, the way appears."

And this time the way is sandy and laced with all your words.
Pungent, placid, poignant, and popular.

Freshly made beds and crisp linens but there is more to health than the appearance.
Is your liver smiling?
It can't be when I wake up every morning with a heavy heart.
Naked breasts and lush cushions but there is more to health than sensations.

And the way is wonderful.
Deliciously confusing, dead ends drain the soil and I'm floating in the rung eternal.
In between and fondling delights but nothing tastes right, even your young coconuts are not as sweet here.

But there is more to health than fragrant foods.

Stumbling on rocks within and they won't answer my questions.
They know such wisdom, when will they spill their juicy fluid?

But I am gushing blood now, and it always feels better when I can see YOU flowing through me!

Surrendering to the truth inside since I cannot understand any other language.
The words also flow and when they do I know You are present.
But tongue and larynx sing softly. Timid
Timid
Timid in touch and sound.

Where is that fiery passion of dicernment?

When the questions are heavier than the answer pouch we can fear fragility.
But I already know how fragile this body is.

And soul far in pieces, just trying to make one moment feel grounded.

I'm sick of the trauma. What is that word?

So in this flesh I can do only so much without my mental state, and it's needing a shine.
Fumagate me, it's time to clear away all blemishes
Rushing naked to source and the spring is drying up and fast
No,
The way is here.

In the corners we turn because our belly button points us towards them.
In the unexpected smile watching others delight in You.

In these mere seconds, the path unfolds, and it widens evermore when we continue to have faith.

In you I walk, eyes closed, I am not blind, but I could be, since I have no idea where I am headed,
But in a word, in a phrase, in commentary, it's all so simply plain.

One foot in front of the other, my dear, there is no where to fall when you are already in the depths.

So smile liver, maybe that's the only true way to tone the abdomen.
Yes, and I believe in taking time to rest, and it's almost wake up time, or perhaps it's just begun!