I choose
this kind love.
These stars in the trees
beyond the river’s glowing fog.
This heaven that slips through
the layers of my humanity.
Life
is precious
to the whispering
deep ones.

I choose
this kind love.
These stars in the trees
beyond the river’s glowing fog.
This heaven that slips through
the layers of my humanity.
Life
is precious
to the whispering
deep ones.
But isn’t it entirely beautiful
to be you.
It is a softness that wanders the fields with me.
Everywhere I go, it is there, sending me off on my uncertain way.
Sometimes, I feel like a small bird, left to battle the raging storms of life.
I do not fight this softness. I only seek to know it well (though sometimes I wish it were a tiger, fierce and free.)
It is me and I am it, this softness of heart.
Let it become.
There is no need to be fearful
of the ‘not enough’.
Of the
too different to fit in,
to be chosen.
You are who you are,
and you will rise as you will rise.
Take care
and wander with head held high.
As you are.
To become
you
again
and again.
I am a child of the wind.
My bare skin knows the beauty of this life, and yet, within these soft walls, I am bare.
How heavy it is to hold this uncertain hand of mine.
Sometimes.
There is silence
where the gaps are.
Weeping holes
in a persons soul, for life,
or just,
perhaps,
for a little while.
It is the depths that call me here.
It is the silence
and the bells
of yesterdays wish.
Let there be now.
Let there be this walk alone
in the gentle woods.
And I will quietly be
as I am.
Yes, I will quietly be.
Perhaps
you might ask your heart what it wants.
Perhaps
you might listen.
Perhaps.
Do not look at my face
and tell me
I am beautiful.
Do not look at my skin
and see your hands
upon my life.
Look at me.
Look at me.
I am here.
I have always
always
been here.