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The story of the wind

When I was younger, I felt happiness like a wind.

It blew across my face, my arms, and my skin like a gentle caress. It laughed and teased, but never too harshly. The wind blew through me and my heart and washed me clean.

Depression was like wandering into canyon caverns and losing my way out. It was hot, dusty, and dry. The ground was parched and cracked; the air was sticky and stiffling. But no matter how long or how far I walked, I could not find the way out. I could feel the wind crashing against the cavern walls, but no puffs of clean air found their way to me.

I lost the wind, and I withered in the heat of my despair.

I cracked and broke, and lost pieces of myself. I lost my smile and laughter. My feelings numbed and diminished to dull, grey echoes of their former glory. And slowly, the holes in my heart grew. Little by little, I lost more and more of what made me the person I used to be. I wandered and wondered, quested and questioned. But answers were as elusive as the wind, and I began to lose hope.

Until one day, I had a revelation.

You, the fears and insecurities that cut at my heart – and you, the sorrows and self-pitying judgments – I have a message for you: bring it. Bring your worst to bear against me. Burn a brand new set of scars into me; take each and every piece of my heart you want and tear it out of me. But you cannot destroy me.

All your efforts to diminish me will fail – and I’ll tell you why. For every piece you steal, for every hole you leave, you do nothing more than deepen my song. You’ve turned me into an instrument, and while the hollows left behind by your efforts grow, my music is not for you. And on the day I find the wind again, it will blow through me, and we shall sing a breath-taking duet.

While you sing a song from the soundtrack to the breaking of the world, the wind and I will sing its counterpoint. We will sing of joy, celebration, and love. We will sing for havest dances and wedding waltzes. We will weave the melody of the someone meeting their first-born child. We will compose an opera to the end of oppression. We will forge an aria to tears of forgiveness. We will trumpet triumph through tragedy.

So do your worst, and I’ll show you my magic – and transform my scars into something beautiful.

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Ivory

Ivory is a color
that comes at quite a cost,
a history worth lamenting
all the lives which were lost.

Every life is sacred,
whether great or small,
but all creatures feel the fear
when a titan falls.

So be mindful of the dark harvest
farmed from each and every head,
and I pray thee to remember
that ivory’s ringed in red.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were elephant, tusk, and blood/death*

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Teal

The ocean rises, rich with rain
filled to the brim with heaven’s pain
whose tears were so great that they fell
to rise again with every swell.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were ocean, rain, salt/tears.*

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We do not treat love kindly

We do not treat love kindly
in these modern days;
we stumble around blindly
trying to find our way.

We put women on a pedestal
and claim to give them awe,
but the moment they start to fall,
they’re crucified for their flaws.

Male culture lauds the fight,
cheers heroes from the stands,
but what waits on his wedding night
for a hero with blades for hands?

It’s time to leave the path;
we must blaze a brand new trail,
embrace our flaws, release our wrath –
the price is too high for us to fail.

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A dream by the sea

A dream by the sea,
a little cottage on the coast –
barely more
than four walls and a door,
but that’s enough for me.

A dream by the sea,
days spent on the dunes –
just laying in the sand
with a cold drink on hand,
but that’s enough for me.

A dream by the sea,
the wind and the waves –
the sound of the deep
rocking me to sleep,
but that’s enough for me.

A dream by the sea
while tangled in traffic –
despite the workday din,
my dream doesn’t give in,
and today that’s enough for me.

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Spirited debate

“You fool! Kiss her!”

The whispered words
wormed their way in,
the cadence climbing
to a damning din.

His thoughts theorized
her texture and taste,
urged him to urgency,
and warned him of waste.

But caution called out,
“Have a care for consent!
Don’t force on her a feeling
that would make the lady lament!”

But what is the fate
of this fable fell?
You’ll never know –
he doesn’t kiss and tell.

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Love humbled him

For all his sins,
love humbled him.

His silver tongue
turned mercury,
and the ladies responded
with maniacal fury.

His vaulted looks
and raven locks
grew restless and
flew off in flocks.

The sexual skills
that once fanned his fame
didn’t change with the times
and the tiger grew tame.

But once his pride ruled him no more,
love came and lifted him up from the floor.

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We must change for love

Love will not change for us,
we must change for love.

The shyful stares
and warbling words
hide deep desires
behind bashful bars.

Love will not change for us,
we must change for love.

Brazen in the backseat,
their hearts are hammering;
they explore each other,
traversing new territory.

Love will not change for us,
we must change for love.

Forming a family
begins with a band,
proceeds with a party,
and concludes in compromise.

Love will not change for us,
we must change for love.

Bruised black and blue,
but their love is true – right?
an aching heart asks,
“Where did we go wrong?”

Love will not change for us,
we must change for love.

A ring removed,
alone again;
they steel themself to search
for a life after love.

Love will not change for us,
we must change for love.

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You hit like a girl

“You hit like a girl.”

I wanted to tell her that
when she came up to the register
with her arm in a cast
because she broke some of her fingers
punching a bouncer at a city bar.

I want to watch the indignation
rise on her face like a rose
as she goes on the defensive
from my perceived insult.

I want to listen to her
read me the riot act
about a bullshit
and sexist comment.

I want to see that look on her face
as I take off my apron,
step around the counter,
and tell her to throw a punch at me.

I want to knock her on her ass
when she throws a full-body punch at me,
and I control her fall
to keep her injured arm safe.

I want to pick her back up
and teach her how to throw a punch.

I want to show her
how to make a fist,
explain why you never
NEVER
put your thumb inside of your fist,
explain that I was taught
to put my thumb on top of my fist,
instead of beside it,
because it makes all the muscles and tendons of your arm
line up like a hammer.

I want to explain to her
how to stand,
how to strike
like a bathroom towel,
like a bolt of lightning.

I want to explain
how you’re supposed to hit
with the first two knuckles of your fist,
how it’s easier to use a makiwara,
a tool used to train calluses,
to harden two knuckles
than it is to harden
the entire face of your fist.

I want to see
the look on her face
when I explain that this
is how you train yourself
to break someone’s bones,
without breaking your own.

And I want to tell her
how I don’t want her to listen
to any of this.

I want to tell her
how I think she punches
like a breaking wave,
how I think it’s beautiful
that she throws everything she is,
her whole heart,
into a full-body punch.
But I tell her anyway
so she’s able to protect herself
while protecting herself.

I said none of this,
of course.

Because I do not know her very well,
and my employers
would not look kindly
on me teaching someone
how to break bones
next to one of their cash registers.

And I wonder if she even needed my help,
if she was already strong enough,
hard enough,
to protect herself already.

And I wonder if she’d appreciate my help,
despite that hardness,
because it means someone cares,
and is trying to take care of her.

So I said none of this.
I just spoke politely,
wished her a good day,
and watched her walk away,
my heart breaking with each
and every
step.

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I wanna be your “fuck you” man

I had a dream once, and in that dream I loved someone who was sick, who was dying.

She saw how difficult it was for me to tend her, and so, she told me to leave.
She told me it was OK to go.

These are the words I had for the woman in my dream.

“I want to run away,
like all those hard times in my past,
when I left a relationship
not because I stopped loving them
but because staying to love them
hurt too much.
But I don’t want to be that man for you.

I wanna be your ‘fuck you’ man.

Because I’m scared,
I’m so fucking scared.
And I want to run away again.
I want to run away
and hide
until the problem is gone,
but I won’t.
Because I don’t want to be that man anymore.
Because I want to stare down
that man and those feelings
and say,
‘Fuck you.’

I don’t want to be the man
who makes a terrible time of your life
even worse.
I want to be the best part
of the worst part of your life.
I want to stay by your side,
brave in spite of my fear,
strong in spite of both our weaknesses,
giving at a time in your life
when you need everything I can give you
and maybe then some.

I want to be one of two kinds of man:

I want to be the man
you can turn to
once all this is over,
years down the road,
the one with whom
you look back on it all and say,
‘Thank God you were there.
I don’t know how I would have made it through without you.’

Or if I can’t be that,
if God or fate,
disease or this shitty world
makes that impossible,
then I want to be the man
you look up to
from your deathbed and say,
‘Thank God you were there.
I don’t know how I would have made it through without you.’

So fuck you,
I’m not leaving.”

Loving someone can be hard.
Loving someone can be terrifying.
But love can be brazen and audacious.
Love can be as profane as it is profound.
And love…can be fucking stubborn.