The Art of Disappearing: Part II

The Art of Disappearing: Part II

Photos albums with our names 

stained on stiff pages

Our faces plastered all over 

Slick covers

.

The smell of sweet carrots

And fried grease,

Ice-cream on old stomping grounds 

Hood stores turned into co-working spaces

And cute cafes

The mark of gentrification 

times changing

Yet our love remains the same

.

Laughter in the middle of

that street in front of Emerald’s Pub

“Have you gotten home alright” texts

“I miss you, when can I see you?”

.

Chanting and singing Gods name moving

Orange flames on white candles

Mahogany tables scented with 

the aroma of love, laughter, and remembrance

.

Sinking into the cushions of my blue couch

Tears streaming down flushed cheeks

Green eyes stare back at me

With unconditional presence

.

I bear witness to being cherished

By those worth loving

Worth remembering

Dancing in the stories

Of my old prayers

.

Yes

It’s a gift to be remembered

by those

Who could never forget 

The Art of Disappearing

The Art of Disappearing

A cup of tea neglected on the kitchen counter

Waiting for the scorching heat to cool down so that

I might sip from its contents

.

Selfishly, the tea stands as

My longing to be comforted

.

Yet it sits—

Three hours later

In a cold heap

honey sitting at the bottom of the cup

.

I’ve forgotten

What it feels like 

To be warmed from the inside out

Just as those have forgotten

What it feels like

To be loved by me

.

And maybe that’s Gods blessing

Allowing myself to be 

Forgotten

Not Digestible

I am not digestible

Not sweet tea with 

Four cups of sugar and a squeeze of lemon

Helping the medicine go down

She’s full bodied gin

Swallowed with a hymn and a prayer

Praying the demons don’t win 

.

Full bodied convulsions

Chanting to avoid shattering into pieces prematurely 

Leaving me high and dry

A trip cancelled just as the tickets were purchased

Seats booked

.

An orgasm right there…no damnit right there

Beads on foreheads bubble as we seek to match 

Tempos shifting in rushed, frantic pace

Impatience snatching sweet release, disappointment on my face

.

Brimming with wanton in a cup overflowed

Where the fuck is the ecstasy I’m owed?

.

Not digestible

Not here to soothe brows with

Gentle balming caresses

Cute little nothings that leave my body hallowed and wanting

Screaming to be filled

Please fill me up with something

.

Not meant for overconsumption

Pick my flowers intentionally,

or the thorns might bite

Blood drops like sweet reparations 

For raping my petals 

To steal my light

.

Treat me delicately

Hold on to subtle curves with a feather light touch

Before the dove takes flight again

.

Experience is the teacher 

That reminds us

How bittersweet moments are 

Before they reach their end

.

I’m not here to be digested.

Nor consumed 

Ask those who have passed by

Memorials for all the empty rooms

Forsaken without my presence.

Never able to be digested.

.

But I—

I’m the perfect size. Perfect shape

Perfect volume. Perfect taste

Absolutely holy. Utterly whole

Goddess woman with a whole lot of soul

.

Not swallowed hastily

but sipped in reverence

Eyes closed, head tipped back 

In drunken presence 

.

Frighteningly ethereal. Deeply divine

Internal medicine

So irrevocably moving

It became my deliverance 

A Season of Change

Lately I’ve been feeling the energy of endings coursing through my body, racing through my veins up until it reaches my tear ducts, dripping slowly to land on the corners of my lips. I taste its bittersweet saltiness as I swallow deeply and allow for it to make its passage once again. I can’t refute the fact that change is often painful as life sucker punches us with it over and over again. Yet, somehow this current change in my life doesn’t feel quite like a sucker punch. Instead, it is the gentlest, most wistful kiss.

I’m amazed to realize that much of my endings do not have to derive from deep pain and betrayal. They can instead arrive in a package that perches itself on my doorstep, a nicely wrapped bow beckoning me to wonder what its contents is. It can be a phone call that says “yes, you got the job” or a letter that reads “Congratulations! You’ve been admitted into ___”. Or even soft lips that whisper “I’ll always love you” as they kiss you goodbye.

Endings are never easy. For me each ending requires a moment of deep surrender to what was and a trust in what will be. These days that are arriving require much faith, so I place my forehead on the ground and ask for strength. I ask for God to enlighten me with softness in moments where I’d thought I wouldn’t have any and to lead me on a path that I can’t even see clearly. Yet, I know, I feel that this is destiny. 

As things end, I usually take the time to look around and take stock. What are the things that I have created with my hands; what are those things I’ve unwittingly destroyed? Were my words too harsh, too passive or timed just right? Did I extend forgiveness in moments where I was a little less than perfect and simply just human? Trying to reason my way through moments where I’ve felt too much because it felt too painful to feel. Have I run away from my own reflection in the hopes of drowning myself in anothers—only to find those eyes reflecting my image once again? And this time will I sit quietly with myself? These are questions that I ask when the ending arrives, and we are left with the fruits of the seeds we’ve sown.

Though endings can be heart-wrenching, honestly all that I witness is love. I see love in the fearful gaze of another as they attempt to hide what is on their mind and shield the fragility of their heart. “I make you feel so naked, don’t I” a question frequently repeated in my mind’s eye. Well, my love, my heart is sewn right onto my sleeve—believe me I feel naked too. Endings always make me feel naked, bringing me right back to my natural self, my child self; unsure and twisting my hands at what I’ve wrought, wondering if I could’ve been anything more than human. But even in that space of remorse, grief and longing, I turn to look in the reflection of my own gaze and still find love.

Love is the thing that makes a fool of us all. And saves us all in the same instance. Love is the thing that makes each moment of laughter, joy, pain, heartbreak worth it—love as a never-ending source of life. Its love that whispers “this door needs to close so that another can be opened”. Its love that rocks me gently as I cling to the past in the hopes that it’ll never reject or abandon me. Its love that wipes my tears, holds my face gently and gazes at me with a knowing that it remains present even when my mind is convinced that it’s going. It’s love that allows for me to pick my head up, look at that closed door and bow in complete and utter reverence. It’s the surrender that makes me revere loves presence. A divine surrender so spiritual my mind cannot conceive of it. It is only my heart that falls into a stupor, drunk with it. Love coursing so deeply within me carrying me to the new door that awaits with hope, inspiration and faith. Love that whispers, “are you ready? You got this, let’s open it together” leading me into a new energy. Love, that awaits on the other side with open arms, accepting, transformative and eternally present. Love that whispers “endings are an illusion that brings you back into presence helping you to realize; I’ve always been here. I have always been the ultimate reality. This is the ultimate truth.”

Love as a space of remembrance, continuously bringing me right back home.

So with love, I thank you for your presence. I thank you for your lessons. I thank you for bringing me back to remembrance.

A heart filled with love.

Xx Heaven

10 Years of Longing

Times passing idly

Beckoning me to make my peace

Is it that I see your face

My heart confounding itself trying to match your beat

Do we miss each other coincidentally?

Or was it that once we fit perfectly, 

Like a puzzle piece

Only now to fall into the trashes debris-

Chipped and out of shape

Unable to fit fully

Has the tale of “the one that got away” stolen our stability?

Nights of longing with partners lying beside both you and me

Drawn into a hazy dream of what used to be

Has life has lost is lustre and presence?

Its golden glitter turned into a sinners heaven

Using sex as a pawn to meet in the depths

And emotional distance to shield our hearts from what comes next

There’s something about this story that makes it so difficult to complete

Even with the impossibility of finding equal ground to meet

Timings off, no wait, persons wrong

Like falling crescendo’s and flat notes in an old song

Gone are the days where we used to dance together right on beat

Stories of yesterday building the foundation where we meet

But yesterday is gone and tomorrow waits for no one

Holding the reality that this songs chorus will inevitebly be done

Can this love transform, grow and finally meet?

Or will times departure force this love train to leave?

In this space of mystery and wonder, allow our hearts to fill in the beats

And perhaps we might lead our own paths to finally make our peace..