I sleep in madness and beauty.
What is this interminable disease of longing that plagues me?
I am a Shakespearian devotee dying from drama.

Fantasy or reality?
Yet she lives so honestly in both realms that what could be called a lie by some was, for her, the whole truth; it contained the creations of her imagination along with the bright and present truth of her miraculous life. There were no middle wants for her, nor any half-developed desires. She flew toward every blazing, radiant wish as Icarus, once, with reckless ecstasy, flew to the sun.

But still, I wake up at dawn, that cold dark exit of loneliness and am addressed by Your presence, a grace that takes my breath out in quick hiccups, wanting to get closer, and staying only just beside you.

This fright that ignores you is my own delight
In being not known. So leave me alone!
I will find you on the other side
When you melt and forget this conversation, this moment, that breath.
You, captured in that one glance,
I have never forgotten.
Go forward and let me go,
With the raging winds of a storm never come
I will be silent while you grow, wild and wanting.
Now go, go, go.

You break me.
I fall to the floor and crouch in the strength of your stance. You awaken me to my forgotten desires. Now I wail to the sky with praise for you in my out-held hands.
Thank you.
Now hold me. Please hold me.

Watching the sun gold setting on a summer night, I wonder, “how far can love fall?” 
Then the world runs through my veins and I am the glass star that resides in the middle, waiting to be filled by you.

Those tears I dropped near your doorstep are offerings, sweet prayers for your bold unfolding.

I can’t stop crying. The small child is begging to be held and I still want sex. I am confused between there, lost in a trap of want and lust. Fuck me, hold me, fuck me, hold me. It is so filled with confusion and hope. Lost and lost and lost. Healing and travelling. Ashamed of this little girl who wants to be loved, touched, and cradled. She is crying inside and out on her porch are the mistaken men waiting to catch her.

I think our capacity to love grows as we come to trust our own solitude, to know and be comfortable in our aloneness. This, combined with our ability to be in awe and reverence for the world around us, prepares us to love another, to love outside of our self such that the giving of that love is simultaneously given back to our self.
With honesty, curiosity and a high level of communication, falling in love can become rising in love.
There is a transformative impact that loving another can have on the awakening and healing of unfinished lessons from childhood. This is a natural occurrence in the process of loving another, and, I believe, one of its beautiful gifts.
When we allow our hearts to fly open to another, to share and discover one another, we see ourselves more fully. We are given the opportunity to have our unhealthy patterns arise in the reflection of our beloved.
And the experience of being in love becomes a union, where there was previously the pain of separation and misunderstanding.
Love with another is a chance to recognize our completeness in their gaze.


Mural by Banksy