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I know I push. Like a battering ram hungry for space, for distance and for the burden of being something to yet another someone else to be lifted. But I don’t want it. Not really. What I really want is a little bit of easy silence. For a body to bear the weight, without being
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I do want to be handled with careat timesbut please Godnever like a flowersmokeor tenuous glassthings that easily breakinstead I beseech youto see my true shapeto know the dangerin the way I was madeand handle me insteadas if I were a blade the blood& the bones
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Let man be brought the edges. For you cannot know what you were made to do without them. I pray every man finds the edges of his will, his strength, his mental capacity, his physical ability. And then I pray that he falls in. I pray for this simply in the name of his rising.
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unruly. somedayI prayI will call a place like this homefor my bodyand so much morefor my wandering soulwhere beauty is not tied to some inconsequential thingand words and time are not wastedinstead they are spoken and spentwith depthwith weightwith purposesomewheremy hands and feet can reach intothe willing earthand where every river holds healing when I
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divide. They say there was a time when all was connected. When there was no divide between their mountains and our valleys. When no ocean came between. I have often wondered where my slopes and hollows fit. Where my river was meant to end. And how my curves were carved away from their genesis. But
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duality. there is bad in mea thing that festers and drumswaiting for it’s turn to take overwhen the better parts of myselffail to succeed with grace and composurehis methods of resolution are often messybut they are thorough and brusquesharp and piercingunlike the softness this side tries to emulatehe is my necessary evilwhen the switch is
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all is silent now the battle drum is quiet you may not knowthat I am still herethat I have not leftthat I refuse to I am not like themI will not cower or runwhen you come undone even in the aftermath I am steady becauseI see youand all the piecesthat make you bravethat make you
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you see softness in me but I ask not to be expectedto want merciful and tenderwhen I have only known stoneI need touch as roughas every battleI have fought and wonI want a fire to rage withinI need to feel it in my bones love me now with intensitywith hard thrusts and handsthat know how
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We speak of forever.. And I only know what it means to me. A meaning that only took shape once I had leaned all the way in. It means that we were and we shall be. And that we have been and we have lived. In many places. And times. And bodies. We exist there,
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love the wild in mebefore there isno stillness leftand I will not beor maybe cannot becaughtslowly relentingto what is more of meand less of themwhilst they proclaimthat I am lostbut is it my undoingor my resurrectionas I yield to what remainsunbroken, unbidden, yesyet I am unable to stop this changeeven as I am unsurewhen it
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The Blood & The Bones 