Beyond Laniakea, the immense heavens,
Galaxies cluster by the billions.
Each a steward
Of one hundred thousand million stars.
Beyond Laniakea, the immense heavens,
Galaxies cluster by the billions.
Each a steward
Of one hundred thousand million stars.
TW…psychiatric hospitalization, suicidal ideation, self harm, the Temple
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My doctor asked me to write down warning signs
I wrote “praying”
And he asked me why
I know I haven’t been to the temple in a while
But I’d know these white walls anywhere
A nurse helps me change into a hospital gown
I think I fell asleep standing up
“Welcome sister, can I see your recommend?”
I sign the consent to treatment form.
“In the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost”
The ER doctor takes his hands off my head and sits next to me
“We’re very lucky you didn’t take enough to hurt yourself, but this is clearly a cry for help.”
I have paid a price you cannot fathom
To claim an authenticity you but freely enjoy.
See me.
Lift the hands which hang down and be my rearward.
See me as I press forward.
I am not coming to join you in a great and spacious building
But as a brother and as a sister under the boughs of love.

Be careful claiming God incites your stories Because poems can be misread And it is likely that your children will misread them
On loving glass women Glass men And glass gods On welding your hands To curved iron rods On fruit made of sunlight That burns when you eat On wars that you fight With shattered retreats On grey trees And grey neighbors Grey houses Grey time On boundaries of smoke And holograph lines On the girl made of starstuff And the boy forged in coal On babies held hostage On shards in your soul On trauma that's bitter And trauma that's sweet On candy nails And broken feet
There's a space that begs for poems But I have no blood to write in And I'm too young to choke to death on broken dreams And I'm drowning in these memories But I have no blood to fight them So I think that I should probably go to sleep But I'll sit here in the space you've made From poetry and rhythm And I'll try not to feel the weight between these notes And on Sunday they will talk about How Jesus healed the broken But they'll never stop to ask who crushed my feet

Did you not possess me in the beginning;
before your works of old?
Did you not cover me in my mother’s womb?
You are compassionate and merciful;
You do not cast away your people which you foreknew.
Am I not the workmanship of thine own hands?
Did you not form me in your glory?
Have you not chosen me,
by sanctifying me as I came forth from the womb? Continue reading
I got your letter in the mail today Its corners dripping salt And I wonder if you think of me Where castle ceilings vault I set it on my bookshelf And I haven't broke the seal I don't want to read of starscapes That I don't believe are real You wrote your address on the corner With ink that smelled like space But I don't want to read appeals To my ancestors or grace So your letter's on my bookshelf Dripping salt and grains of sand There's too much sea inside it To be opened on the land

You are the silent sin of Sodom.
You and your polished granite stone.
You guide the strings of a marionette,
and believe you have no sins for which to atone.
I’m sitting here in this frigid cold,
looking in beyond the glass.
Where is this sword and shield,
to protect me from those who harass? Continue reading