gather me

let me tell you everything

quick drops of this year
in piles
directly on you
untidy files flopped on a desk
loads of everything and nothing
you sort it out.
dig around
gather the scattered
I can’t make sense of it.

you promised to finish this.

redraft

I want to hide in a book and never come out
Rewrite what’s happened to me
Invent a new future
I’d be a charming protagonist
I would.

Grace

Guess what, grace? I don’t understand you.
In this cash-in and receive society, that is a bad trade.

To-Do List:
cleaning and re-cleaning
tucking away ugly loose ends
washing my hair once again
smoothing over things that don’t matter

The Mundane
convinces me that I don’t need you, grace.
It robs me of time and reality
it reduces life
to tidy equations:
a garble of outward success,
checking off lists,
and self-sufficiency.

I catch a glimpse of The Giver of grace.
my soul drinks
I fade.

Come here, grace.
The Mundane isn’t trustworthy.
I’m going to The Giver.

release

compressed until all my boxes
no longer have walls
& now I know
that was love.

I cry freely
realizing I was fighting myself.
thought you were the enemy

it was me.

guilt & shame
heartache & pain
arrogance & greed
compartments
hiding places
I surrender

love conquers me.