Bonding Bad

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The days of danger finding me
Smack dab in the middle of my manifesting success

Freshly showered after having done all the inner-work

Looking like chemistry
Though, by definition, cannot be

True to your name, Trauma

Your electric days that bound us
Over

I’m Sorry

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I am not a mechanism, a tool
Some structure
By which, if you employ, you may use to heal old wounds

Nor are you for me
These scars have nothing to do with you
You may not attend to them

While I hunger
While you hunger
We are not consumables

We are afire
We are to touch and be touched
While considering what time has in mind

Holding Space

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Would that all who’d seen fit
To have been unkind to me
Have their childhood wounds healed

Here, look from my window

Flower and vegetable gardens
Fruit tree and fire pit
Baseball, my love, baseball

As I Stand Today

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Ode to the she-stranger, whom I never met

Yesterday, upon my knees

“Respiras,” my aura begged her

Then quietly and years ago, she-stranger did oblige

As if she wore my atoms, said for only me to hear

“You lucky, lucky girl.”

Original Thought Credit: Marty McConnell’s “FRIDA KAHLO TO MARTY McCONNELL”