Homeostasis of the Heart

I long for the place of   Sanctuary in our souls,  Where wounded limpers Gather for asylum- Rallied round the broken hearts Of people who will listen, Lend ear to the lonely And whisper, “Me too.” I long for the place of  Mindful refuge, Where we step inside  The candle-lit shadows  Of imperfect reflections- And in echoing halls of holy spaces, Make peace with ourselves And break bread instead. I long for the place of Communion in our words, Conviction in our hearts- Where we gather round the table, Kneel at the time-worn altar, And pray for unity As madmen cry for Freedom. I long for the place of Creating sacred spaces- Straddling freeway crusades: We pitch tent in the median, Look each other in the eye, And listen to the fullness  Of beauty in silence Of loudness in lonely.  I long for the place of Sanctuary in our souls. Where pain-marked identities Find freedom in tears....

I put a safety pin in my pocket today. And that feels dangerous. Too many unanswered questions for too long; it feels unbearable. And just in case I break, I am prepared. Why is my personality predisposed to pain?  Why can't I be content? With anything. With everything.  I am a four. Romantic Individualist.  I want you to notice me. I want your validation. That I am unique. Special. But when you give it, it will never be enough.  Because my root sin is envy. I think you have something I am missing. Answers maybe? Or maybe it's just the fact that I will never be enough.  And if I can't be enough, dammit, no one else will be either.  Profoundly melancholic- my favorite thing about myself and yet my Achilles heel. Maybe that's why, when I used to cut myself with safety pins, I cut in patterns. A beautiful bloodletting. Was it more about the beauty or the pain? Someone, please take the safety pin in m...

What of a dream,  Surreptitiously dreamt, Bent on confusion, On passion that’s spent? What of a dream  Whispered faintly in ear Dropped wistfully, woefully  Worshipfully near? Echoes of longing  Ring dreadfully down Reverberate shadows Melancholic, profound. Where did you come from? Where have you been? Hidden 6 foot under— Denial within. Too deeply entrenched Too wistfully warped Too terribly close And too fearfully sharp. This shadow of souls The mystery of me A puzzle I’ve puzzled  Since my ABC’s.  Enthralled with enigma Imagination confounds Both the head and the heart; Discovery rebounds. The passion decides What the mind will recall Yet teases comprehension Sans wherewithal. I gather the flowers Yet they wilt in my hands Mere corpses of memories Grasping wisps of sand. To fall or to falter After shapes in the night: Seems ghoulish, redundant Paranoic delight. And yet they ...