Poems written a lifetime ago

That whisper of a different life is calling me again

Saying me name, screaming the end

How do I respond, why do I keep waiting for my life to begin

Gimme a chance to change, call to me again

Say my name again

Call out to me, my friend

What is there to gain from this?

Should I hold on or chase my bliss

Starting anew; starting fresh

Will you hold my hand while I rest

A bit tired, needing to close my eyes

This is the only reprieve I get from your lies

Don’t know what to believe

Your actions, words, or something in-between

I watch you, hiding to see

Who you are away from me

By the light of the waning moon

I don’t recognize this feeling

This grief

How privileged am I to not intimately know this shadow

What relief I’ll feel when this vestige is gone

 I’ve attended a dozens funerals for myself and this one is the hardest of all

What if

What if I don’t like the person I’m becoming

What if he doesn’t

What changes in myself will make her stop mourning the child I was

What if I stay in this liminal space, never progressing, repeating cycles

Learning and unlearning the same things

Is that not the scariest version of me of all?

By defeating my solar return I’ve unlocked new levels to master

New planets to assert control over

New battles to lose

For this isn’t a war but a gift

An opportunity for expansion

Expanded thinking, experiences, and magick

I can only see it as something to be controlled

Needing to see this (me) fitting neatly in a box

Sleep

Icy fingertips pulsate in staccato time

Irregular rain and wind make for a full band

I cannot slumber in a concert

The People’s Welcome

If my throat blockages manifested in a physical way, I would be the person constantly clearing my throat and coughing the driest of coughs.

Instead, my voice doesn’t even get the opportunity to choke

Doubt and insecurity rests on top of any semblance of volume

I’m the person who slightly parts her lips and just as swiftly closes them

Represented visually by mountains of papers and large tomes of the things I’ve left unspoken

Names swiftly disappearing for lists of people who I could have helped, but lacked the courage to do so

I’m brave in so few ways and this is yet another way that escapes me

Until today

Found in stomach nine in acupuncture, The People’s Welcome felt like a homecoming full of fanfare and cheer

My voice appears not meek but boisterous and full of confidence

I speak not in questioning tones but knowing ones.

My voice, a vessel of truth

To help,

To heal,

To release.