The singer

How do you remove
the memory of soft skin
and strong hands?
Thick beard
and heartache?

I don't remember his voice
only the way his neck felt
under my palms
as I rubbed every last
rugged note
free

"I tend to be quite loud"
he told me

And I don't remember his sounds either
only the way I made none
I made none
I made none

love found me

love found me somewhere in between the words
"fuck off" and "go"

i was standing in a silk cheetah onesie in a room of 200 people
on a sunday morning at the tiffany center downtown

he walked up to me with a painted exploding heart on his chest
smug, with a smile
as if he'd done nothing wrong

and like a lightening bolt
an energy moved through my body
"fuck off!" "go!'
and a force field was created around me
that man would not come near

if i had had those words when i was 7
or again when i was 13
or maybe 25 or 3 weeks ago

love shows you exactly what you don't know
about how to honor your relationship with it.

and for me,
love would not find me until i found my anger.

until i spit the memories of soap being shoved down my throat
out of my mouth and said "no"
"your aggression is not stronger than my truth"
until i put the memories of the belt back around his waste
undid the ways he beat the love out of me
and i said, "no. your beating is not stronger than my breath.
i will not be quiet here.
i am grown now,
and i will not be a victim."

love found me in my rage
in my pounding fists against my pillow
in my sobbing screams into the sky
in my ache, in my groin
in my will to destroy the thing that had destroyed me

i had lost all my edges
all my fuck you's, all my no's
they were somewhere in between "feed me" and "buy me new clothes"
they were somewhere in between "come tuck me in" and "why are you fighting again?"

some people respond to crazy
with agitation and aggression
others respond with compassion and expansion
and love finds us in the just-right combination
when we're willing to admit
how much we want it
and we're willing to do the work
to claim it and protect it

full of trumpets

being able to lift your chin and smirk for the camera

doesn't make you bullet proof or superhuman 

grow, grow, leech, vine

the ego is still as temporary as skin

even the grandest of it 

eventually

burns

there is, though, a subtle body of love

that outlives the lines of your fleshy meat

it is full of secret wishes

as simple as kindness or the rhythm of an encouraging drum

it is full of trumpets 

and emptying breaths

and tears that cascade

down salty cheeks 

into the corners of upturned lips

267/365 : ben

i'd like to come back to you year after year
a little more scared each time
a little more
naked
and fine with it
i'd like to come back to you
and press my palm against your palm
feel our muscles touch
and then move slower
in the meeting of our eyes

draw the line

I'm drawing new lines

like a painter

not sure

exactly where 

the fire will crack 

or bend backwards--

only what needs to be burned

from my pallet 

of "sounds good"

236/365 : what does a dead end look like in your mind?

i imagine a brain
gray or pink
wet and inexplicably wonderful
crevices like windowsills
in a building that's all curled up
these pathways
that say, stay here
don't dismantle 
don't untangle
my place 
in this mess
this meaningful 
inexplicable 
chaos
i like where i belong
even if it got suddenly dark
suddenly stopped in the forrest of
thick bushes and over grown trees and out of control weeds
don't make me take the machete
to the way i am
don't make me carve a new plan
there is a flickering
locket in the
subconscious
of my fantasy
and inside it a picture
of who i want to be
spins and turns
pulls that stubborn
crab, curled up
in that hard shell magic
pulls it
into the sea

235/365 : no such thing

every little thing
on my tiny little list
feels impossible

my belly has
a thousand pound weight
magnetizing it to the mattress

there's no such thing
as a double negative