Do you protect your heart like a child with an egg? Holding it ever so carefully, keeping it safe from
You're terrified you'll get slimy shards all over your fingers, sticking to everything.
(more) Maybe you jumped too high or ran too fast and accidentally crushed it. Maybe somebody else snatched it from your hands and tossed it at the sky. Perhaps you nurtured it for years, out of harm's way
so that nothing could ever happen to it...
Until you noticed it starting to stink.
We all have these little egg hearts we don't know what to do with. So fragile, so volatile.
Don't you realize they are a dime a dozen?
We birds are meant to be free and can hatch as many eggs as we want.
Go ahead - make an omelet this morning! (less)
If I could take
how you make me feel
and quickly shove it all into a blanket
could I then take you with me
anywhere I went?
(more) Thread your ends together,
with delicate precision
until you are compact - bulging
attached to one end of a gnarled stick
slung over my shoulder?
A knapsack full of treasures
could keep me satiated as I'm traipsing through
various types of undergrowth.
If left to my own devices
I’ve rotten tendencies for
I’ll inevitably overindulge
dropping bits of you
by the wayside.
So could you please just let me keep you
all bundled up until sometime
when I genuinely need you?
Your nutrients would have to keep
considering that sometimes when I get lost
indiscernible thoughts of a
more sinister nature
like to sneak, creep, crawl into my mind.
Sometimes when I
am out wandering
I discover deeper caverns -I stumble upon them
those nebulous creatures are
You won’t be wasted,
In my blanket,
I assure you. (less)
If it's just before noon
and I'm still lounging under the covers
or dreaming of some twisted, alternate me
it's unlikely I'll discover anything
worth waking up for.
If I had awakened
many hours beforehand
slid open my window
breathed naked, innocent
sipped steeping tea in the half light
gazed with longing as the night sky
those heavy thoughts,
that often surround me
might just be
by the morning breeze.
Or strewn across my bed,
like discarded clothing that
hot smooth hands
pulled over my head...