I’m done with the heavy net of others, cast out to capture the wounded, reeling tight and tearing through bones, blood, sinew, soul. I’m done with hopelessness, for the sake of suffering, staying down for the want of mercy. I’m done with order, obliging my limits done with chaos, siphoning my silence. I’m done being weary of carving the same path, never following whim and want to fall without a net.

Little dancer, you tremble with trepidation unsure of yourself thinking backwards into fears of falling of shame of disappointment until you let go, twirling into light graceful and free surrendering to the score finishing into applause. Little dancer, you now carry within, a lesson of discomfort into glory, of courage in face of fear. Never give in.

I followed a dark star through ruptured light, to a past home to look upon my familiar self. I found her asleep, head cradled in elbow, vacant to this world, mumbling, quivering, wild fluttering of closed eyes, pulled into nightmare. I grazed her backbone of unmet desires curving up to touch the edges of her mind, a home for my chaos and heart, my restlessness and hope. I leaned in to rest my head upon hers and linger on the frail thing before me as she rests her ferocity and shield to fight again and again day into day to step into her place in the future. My tears glided down her face as I mourned her need for another, her bravery in solitude. My hands erased the tears as I smiled knowing tomorrow will be more than her losses, knowing tomorrow will bring you.

God is the skin of a drum pulled taut and thick beneath our feet carrying us through life. The hide stays unbroken its vibrating quarks and electrons weaved tight held close by design. It stretches far meeting the horizon in an infinite distance all the while absorbing our rhythms our steps our prayers as patterns for His recognition. Our faith keeps our ground steady and trembles when we doubt. We create worlds into songs whose patterns are never alone never lost. He hears everything.

Auroras sway their evanescent masterpiece on night’s canvas dancing to their own chaos, boundless. A kaleidoscopic ribbon rippling with madness, auroras sway. Hues of emerald, gold, cobalt and crimson igniting with solar wind advances dancing to their own chaos, boundless. Nature’s slow nocturne quickens wonders of the universe, limitless auroras sway. Above us, a message is written of gods and their reckless greatness dancing to their own chaos, boundless. Through it all, my mind is hidden I am only eyes, awestruck and restless, auroras sway dancing to their own chaos, boundless.

Shame traps my life in an outline, tracing itself over and over, underscored after each human encounter, coloring my existence in shadow. My form flickers within the interplay of shame and guilt tag teaming my push into reticence. But I learned to light myself on fire with the beacons of laughter and hope and pride burning through the tangled web, etched of darkness, alight within my cocoon of destruction. Can you see me now?

There’s a cloud mushrooming in my head as it rains weeps seeps from my eyes. Possession is nine-tenths of everything and I’m caught within as it bursts past the confines of my mind, surrounding my space in grey, playing keep-away with my strength of will. Grey fades to black as I defer to detach and dead options, once again, become viable. I will win I will win Tell me that someday I will win.

He’s invisible underneath the clump of blankets he wraps himself in, the flattened cardboard box he sleeps on, the silent dog he hugs tight, the rumpled clothing he wears since before the streets claimed them. He’s inaudible making signs to catch eyes, “Just need some cash to go home” “Disable vet any help welcome” “Please help lost my job” “Just hungry” He’s begging at the corner, by your office, in traffic, silently screaming, I’m hungry Lying on concrete sidelined on Main Street camped out by Target’s entrance, he’s broken unable to stand trying to make contact with the eyes of the public, fathers mothers children police officers, instead he finds disgust scorn fear. He belongs to the unlucky many, sitting on borrowed time, close to the light, fading, becoming, intangible

The night shines its pinpricks upon wet stillness and I break through its meniscus arms leading with glass fingertips palms skimming water droplets bijou and free-willed in their trajectory and I let go the weight of each worry like stones whose purpose lie in the deep and I float with eyes open to the night whole

I am a frail thing, apex to a cliff, arms wide to the howl of winds. I am a shrivel of a thing, a singular grain in the multitude of solitude, a survivor among many. I am Frankenstein’s monster, unleashed into darkness, unmoored by my own presence. But, however, if I may interject, forgive my darkness, for I deem, it is my heart screaming, beseeching lost, for never having known a home.