1+1=1

I don't really feel the need to explain,
there's no compulsion to complain,
just to ask for some support...
My heart is tender and sore.

I am grieving and praising,
living and breathing,
dying and shedding... layers of skin.
Like snake medicine, my exoskeleton,
giving way the hard shell, to let the draft in.


My soft flesh revealed, calloused layers peeled back,
no longer conceal, this feeling of lack.
Realizing the door that once swung open wide,
is no longer ajar, and our time has expired.

Grief touches my soul
and flows out through the holes in the stories we told
and the cracks and the folds.
Words felt from inside are blocked by doubt,
refusing to happen upon a way out.

And maybe your right, poetry does come too late,
past due for the time when it could have been stated,
the rawness I feel, statements that reveal,
the issues which made us turn on our heel.
A pivoted foot, not sure where to stand,
in this intimate land, a web weaved strand by strand.

So in letting this lie,
letting the desert be dry,
leaving the blue in the sky,
letting the tear cry,
in allowing to be what it is that exists,
I grieve for what's lost,
and praise what is missed....