One Chance.

She had a shop that she named Chances. She opened her doors all night and all day; she didn’t close them because there was always someone who wanted to look around with something to say.

She loved how happy they were when they left with their new chance. They would hug her and tell her next time they’d pay. They’d smile and she was sure it was enough to keep her in business while her rent ran late and while her eyes grew weary. Selling chances was what kept them coming back and without them, she’d end up alone, brown eyed and teary.

Day after day they needed more chances. Chances for forgiveness, chances for trust, chances for old lovers and chances that wouldn’t rust.

She realized that all the hugs and gratitude her little shop got wasn’t enough to keep her thriving, inside she was beginning to rot.

So she painted a new sign one night and had customers screaming through her doors, “I hate you, I hate you, I won’t be coming back anymore!” But she could smile now when new customers came to call. They wouldn’t mistake her for the doormat she once was before her great fall.

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Noose.

She comes together in pieces. That’s how she falls apart, too. She keeps gaining ground and then losing grip at all the things she’s been trying to do.

Just when the World seems to smile and gentle tuck back her hair the grief and the weight fall back into her skull and she spirals into despair.

She’s floating down river banks with a smile so wide her face can’t hold the happy. She’s flying up high and finally part of her favorite Sky.

She tripped into a memory that kicks at the demons she has chained. She’s fighting of wolves and bears that foam with all of their names.

There isn’t a place to hold the grief. There isn’t a well deep enough to drown out their screams. Some nights she’s lit up with silvery Moon; some nights she’s shadowed and twisted trying to claw at the empty room.

Tonight the chained are lapping up her grief and her pain. They are stretching their legs and enjoying their frolic. She isn’t afraid anymore as she lets the hounds loose. She just wishes she was able to sell them, lose them, untie the noose.

Mine.

I didn’t think there would ever be a reason to let go of that rope.

We’ve always been tethered– my fins to your boat.

We always found a way back and for the first time I can’t remember how to float.

The water has always been my home– but you had to go and leave, found more peaceful seas, light years away from me.

I didn’t know sirens could forget how to swim. I didn’t know we could be broken just like the souls we wreck in search of “him.”

But I broke my own heart in loving you. I fell for a pirate that wanted me and the Sea, too.

He didn’t wake up after his ship wrecked that final time. I didn’t get to say good bye to those dangerously green eyes. Why couldn’t you just wake up for me??

I didn’t know siren’s hearts could break like mortal men. I would sell my tail to burn down every inch of heaven.

To bring back what is Mine.

Thrive.

On quiet nights the haze rolls in. Covers the stars as the Moon slips in and out of their shroud. It’s a dreamy lull coaxed by the clouds.

Uncertainty feels like calm warm water on my toes. It doesn’t grip my core, shake my soul, it doesn’t make me question where to go.

The World has been falling in to places where It fits as if I should have known it all along.

I’ve been letting the World come to me, arms open, I’m only taking what It gifts to me.

I’ve been on a fault line with this World of mine. Months have passed and I’ve slowly found peace in all this time. I’ve found a home inside this body I own. I’ve found solace in what was once a prison and not a home.

The haze has plumes around the Sky. I am safe, I’m okay, I will thrive.

Gardener.

There is a man who has gnarled roots that grow from his knees and grip tightly into the ground.

A man with twisted vines that tangle through his eyes and twist up toward the sky. Briars spilling from his ears make it impossible for him to hear anything but loud.

The branches that used to reach for the sky have overgrown and rooted to his sides. Thorns have imbedded in his spine, leaving him in pain, tortured, unsure how to be kind.

But he waters his hazardous form. He hums soft songs to coax the foliage to adorn. He brings life to the forest that smothers his growth. He twists his form wanting to be anything other than a host.

I wish I could take the watering can out of his prickly hands. I wish there was some hope for this twisted, gnarled, man.

Humming Bird.

The humming birds rattle inside me as I lay on your chest. I don’t remember the last time I had a bird feeder there to bring the flutters that won’t seem to rest.

The drought was long and I forgot their wings were the loveliest little things. Whirring, floating, I forgot they were stronger than mere butterfly wings.

Because the warm I feel burning in my face and the flutters knocking in my chest keep me biting back grinning too hard, keep me watering that bird feeder jar.

Your quiet breathing and subconscious squeezing are keeping me awake and I love the feeling. Exhaustion feels like perfection wrapped in flutters I can’t quell.

I can barely breath as you sleep wrapped around me, these humming birds will be my only tell.

Alibi.

Wine drunk curls filled with campfire smoke make inhibitions drift off with the breeze. The sky filled with stars and you across the campfire looking at me. I think I’m losing the battle of wills and you fill me with laughter and weaken my knees.

Crimson embers float on, little story telling sprites, egging on the feelings building on our tongues tonight.

Secrets spill under the stars smattered with sky, oh how you’ve been waiting for a night like tonight. The smile you’ve been wanting to lay your lips on, the laughter you can’t get enough of, these summer dresses you’ve been wanting to take off of…

Summer skin unfettered by walls, summer skin too feral not to be naked on this Earth, after all.

Your sunburned body tastes like campfire, your hands feel like heaven as we surely found our way to Hell Fire. Pull my face to yours as we get higher.

Take those summer stars and leave them to prick out pictures in the sky. Watch two bodies wind their way into each other making a starry nighted alibi.

Wild.

Screaming like a wolf helps the fire rage on. It makes the momentum stick, it makes the inferno roar, it makes makes the heart remember to tick.

Roaring like the Sea when the storm rips down the skies, it helps keep the turbulence churning inside.

Don’t forget the feeling of wild fires that are almost out of your control. Feel this burn, stoke those embers, coax your coals. Build that ashy pile until it’s a spire reaching for the skies. Scream like a wolf and let out everything inside.

Thriving being feral, smokey scent in my hair, scorching my world to my liking and living like I’m the only one there. Howling at the Moon and shrieking at her sins, wild animals like to live wildly without end.

Perspective.

I’m where I wished I was three months ago. It’s hard to remember that. It’s hard to remember how desperately I wanted to be here because I was always looking back.

These flying things I’ve unfurled into the hottest of blues, these wonderful dreams I’ve finally made it to, all because I refused to drown, too.

Expanding and contracting with my heart’s ebb and flow. Beating wings and gliding depending on where my mind wants to go. Selfishness taste good in my once starving mouth. It tastes like I am the absolute master of everything I used to cry about.

Because I am the master of my flying machine. I am the sole captain of who I want to be and how I want to steer this thing. Freedom never felt freer than realizing a few short months ago this is where I desperately wanted to be.