When I am this far off the ledge, barely dangling, you cannot love me home
Wait for me at the bottom instead. Upturn your arms, Become The Home
I think about the times here I grimace at myself and my mouth.
I needn’t split my hands to mold strange people into good friends, I have plenty at home.
Reflection is haunting, this body is nothing more than a soon-to-be carcass.
Dress and heels frantically attempt to twist my limbs and waist into a home.
No breakfast, I just slept for dinner and stayed awake all night for dessert.
Out of body experiences are the perfect guests and loneliness is our most familiar home.
She waits at the river for something to come up for fresh air.
Nothing does. She jumps in to find it and sinks to the sandy, muddy home.
Prayer rugs and prayer beads litter a fragile and dainty facade.
Each night keep one eye peeled open hoping He does not call you back Home.
Race yourself over the mountain each time it sorrowfully kneels before you.
Fondle the missed dreams you caught and kiss them clean. Let your lips lead you home.
Midas had a daughter who was you, go on and touch the world into poetry.
May everything you have yet to weep over, give birth to somebody’s home.