Someday

Someday I’ll learn to value me
for every little thing I do.

Someday I’ll feel like I’m enough.
I’ll say the words and they’ll be true.

Someday I’ll notice all my good
and love every part of me.

Someday the voices in my head
will stop punishing me endlessly.

Until that day, I cry and cry
and wipe my tears away

with the prayer that I’ll be enough,
someday, oh, someday.

If I Were

If I were a seed,
breaking the brittle walls
of my dying shell,
I would brave the darkness
for the light calling my name.

If I were a sprout
I’d reach my flimsy leaves
up to the sky and
sing my songs of thanks for
the life-giving rain.

If I were a tree,
solid and stoic, rooted in
Mother Earth’s flesh,
I would stand fearless through
the fiercest storms, unswayed.

But I am only human,
cowering in darkness,
hiding from the storm in shame,
praying someday that
I’ll become strong again.

Alive

I think sometimes that it’s not enough
to be just enough
for existence’s sake;

not enough to stand in the wake
of your life rushing off
to greet your fate;

not enough to let moments pass
without taking a chance
‘cuz your hands might shake;

not enough to run from love
for fear that
your heart might break.

What is it that makes you feel alive?

For me, it’s the look in someone else’s eyes
when you talk and they see you,
straight through your lies and sweet alibis,
and still wanna be by your side.

For me, it’s the laughter that heartache brings
three hours after the vodka when the dawn bird sings
and you’ve stayed up talking ’bout crazy things
and you feel like this friend’s given you wings.

For me, it’s the tip-tap of little feet
when my goddaughter announces her pedicure’s complete,
but she’s only two, and it’s so sweet ’cause
she’s pure and innocent and ready to beat
down the doors of this universe, being hardly discreet,
to make the world worship at her feet.

For me, it’s the music that moves my soul,
the poetry that makes me feel whole,
the chaos when life’s outta’ control
and all you can do is just not let go
of what makes you feel,
what makes you real,
what makes dawn break and the world appear,
what makes the earth shake, bringing mortality so near,
what makes love push you past the point of fear,
what makes you bleed,
what makes you tear,
what makes you wanna’ stand up and cheer …

because it’s not enough
to be just enough.

At least, it’s not for me.

The Inevitability of Love

I know that…

After each raging storm
part the gray clouds, spent of rain,
and the sun must bathe the land with warmth again.

I know that…

After the blackest night,
dark with terrors and fears unseen,
dawn must break, turning the fears into a dream.

I know that…

After the waves recede
from the sandy, naked shore
the ocean must return to kiss the beach once more.

I know that…

After the freezing cold
that the bitter winter brings
must emerge the blooming life of blessed spring.

I hope that…

After my heart mourns,
and from despair it’s learned enough,
it will surrender to the inevitability of love.

Because I know that…

After a heart breaks,
splitting you through your tender core,
it grows stronger than it ever was before.

The Mourning Year

In month zero
I mourned the loss
of a child I would never meet.

Then month three came
and I mourned the loss
of the first true home I’d seen.

Month six came
and we mourned the passing
of the man my husband called dad.

In month nine we
shared an anniversary
where we mourned everything we once had.

Month twelve came
and I mourned the death
of my beloved brother and friend.

Month thirteen has arrived
and I’m tired, so tired,
of this mourning that just won’t end.

I’ve lost all perspective
on beauty and hope
and my dreams being held at bay.

But I give thanks for the love
standing strong by my side,
month after month, easing my pain.

Despite all the hard
and the endless tears,
one thing for sure I now know.

This mourning year
gave me one great gift.
The knowing that I am never alone.

Dear Grief

Dear Grief,
Please don’t take me
to the dungeons beneath your throne.
Don’t make me call your darkness
my new home.

I
love the warmth of sunlight,
scents of blossoming spring air.
I beg you let me find my
way back there.

Don’t
make me your prisoner.
In your caves I cannot breathe.
My soul was meant to soar, please
set me free.

Or
chain me by my ankle
and I’ll rest within the trees.
Let me think I’m free, even if it’s
make-believe.