I give my Self to you

Hands become my promise

Arms my home

Mouth my breath

Take my potential

Take my dreams and age

Take my every step

Gifted to you are all

that contains this

battered broken soul

Give me your everything

I demand your eyes

Your feet towards me

Chest contains me alone

Hear truth in my voice only

And speak of me only fondly

Bend and leap in that Blissful Abyss

And let your soul be mine

—and mine ours—

So we may become greater

First, I was a daughter,

and a sister.

I was a niece and a cousin,

a granddaughter and blessing.

Then I became a friend,

a classmate, a student.

I became a reader, 

a writer,

a fan.

I became a crush, then a love,

a girlfriend,

then again a girlfriend,

then again,

and now, a girlfriend.

I was a flag, and then a rifle and saber.

I was a band geek, a nerd.

A poet.

An undergraduate.

I became a reporter.

A boy, for a time,

then a they.

I was a girl.

A woman.

A worker.

A fighter.

A peacemaker.

I was a liar.

I was a love, then a heart-breaker.

A virgin.

For a while, I was a pianist.

A Hispanic,

An American. 

Soon,

I will be a graduate.

I will be an author,

a Novelist

a Director

A violinist.

I will be a wife,

A mother, a grandmother.

Soon, I will be an aunt, a godmother,

a business owner.

Soon, I will be someone new.

I will be someone similar.

I will be anything.

I will be,

I am,

Me.

A year, weeks, all the days

I'm in a daze at all the ways

You make me smile

All the miles and miles

I must pass to get your heart

I'll start here, with you're words

With your laugh, with your skill

You will fill me, ignite me, excite me

and write me those words

that light me up, start my heart beating

when before it was stone, I was alone

and then you entered without having to

push or pull, and now I'm full,

you made it so simple.

Your silence speaks confession

as— in vain— large limbs curled

and fantastic features shy

you attempt to conceal the grandness

we see as plain as a bullet through white cloth,

Blaring your horn,

Oh, you Bashful Beast!

hidden on every surface,

every shelf, every space,

squeezed into too small confinement

always visible

clearly defined and deceptively transparent,

on display from all, yet

All turn away.

He's like a Supernova—

all electricity and heat, 

A wink and a smile

And I'm already in too deep

Unguarded, unprepared,

Unwilling to give up this 

Amazing, brilliant being,

who's meaning is out of reach.

I lay down my life,

I run through the streets,

I yell, I cry, I laugh,

I take his hand

And feel his energy, his radiance

I'm at his command, by his side,

Illuminated; he's consuming me,

drawing me in, closer to his brightness,

Pale eyes seeing through everything 

and fixed on me

only me

how could I captivate this eccentric who

has the world in his hands yet abandons it to catch me as i fall?

And I'm falling

Falling

Afraid of the land, because this man

is too bright and I'm burning up,

I can't hold on despite the ache that tells me never let go,

despite the joy I feel in his presence,

the thrill of his touch,

the peace found from his voice,

the comfort I relished in his arms

For me, he's defeated monsters,

traversed murky waters,

pulling himself  from the Styx again and again,

yet I fear still, the pain of the landing as I fall

because how can this man love me as he claims to,

how can he look at me with eyes alight with fire than had been

dulled when gazing at her

Falling, drowning, alone

And yet he's always there

Always with me

hands around me,

holding me

soothing me

saving me

as I fall.

How long will I have to wait?

The weight of it crushes me

compressing and messing

with the thoughts in my head.

How long until its over?

Over and over it rages,

erratic, this static that

erases everything I know.

How long before its better?

Is the better part of the day

Dawn— the time when I can

unwind and unknot this ache

that never seems to sleep?

     She was dragged by her arms, her feet already bleeding and bruised from the rough ground, unable to properly walk from the rough treatment. She heard loud and hushed voices, passed column after column until she was tossed to the floor, banging her shoulder against hard rock.

     Her head spun, her body trembling too violently as she struggled up, arms barely holding her weight, but she wouldn't lie on the floor like a kicked dog. She wouldn't cower like a child. Despite the pain and the fear threatening to overtake her, she steeled her expression and lifted her head up, up, up.

     He sat like the Greeks described Zeus, like Blake described Urizen, like the Jews described Jehovah— a kind of power that she knew she'd never personally touch fluctuating off him in mighty and terrible waves as he stared down at her. There was relaxation to his powerful shoulders, as though he didn't feel the weight of the years of war, didn't feel the pressing hands of the poor and suffering begging help from their lord, didn't feel the threat of her people who had been struggling for months, fighting, bleeding, dying against him. He felt none of them as he stared down at her with eyes that revealed only disinterest.

     Disinterest. As though she wasn't even worth the smallest bit of energy to feel threatened, or insulted. As though he couldn't even bother to care for the wounds on her feet, the bruises on her chest, the tears no doubt shining in her hateful eyes as she boldly stared, breath coming in short, angered breaths like a snarling animal trapped by the poacher.

     "Who is this?"

     She put her foot to the floor under herself, pushing up with an animalistic growl, making to lunge forward, but she was crumbling down on herself from pain before the guards could even move to grab her again. She heard a scoff from above, and felt the crushing smallness of her being, like an ant believing it is strong, the mightiest in the world until it meets the boot of a man.

     "One of the rebels, sir. She was caught with firearms and a sword, smuggling them from the reserves."

     "And where are the others?" Silence followed those words. "Fools. Instead of dragging this single pathetic child to me, you should have followed her until she no doubt led you to the group, where she was carrying the weapons. We need the whole lot of them, and the leader. I need the mother rat, not one of its insignificant pups."

     The plans. The pain. The songs filled with hope on those brief nights, when even despair became too much too bare, anger no longer a satisfactory blanket to protect from their misery. The faces of those who had fallen. The speeches and promise of something better. The dreams and desperate hope for the end.

     "Perhaps this isn't such a disappointment." She looked up to see him still regarding her, renewed emotion in those blank eyes, grey like the sky before a violent storm, calm but promising disaster. She saw curiosity, like those in a man who wonders if he can still use a broken tool. "You were the messenger. So you know how to travel quietly. You know where they all hide, or you at least know someone who does." He tilted his head, the way a serpent does, luring in its prey before the final strike. "I will spare you, if you swear your loyalty to this Kingdom, to my Crown, and lead us to them or them to us. I will provide you with safety, assurance. You'll leave the squalor you no doubt currently inhabit with that pack of Mischief."

     She didn't say anything, looking down to her trembling hands. They had beaten her when they'd caught her with the weapons, heavy boots and the butts of weapons hitting repeatedly, over and over with the strength of fighting men, of powerful muscles, from all sides, with nowhere to hide, no way to curl against the bruising and punishing blows. 

     His law was clear. Treason was suicide. Rebellion was a ticket to Hell. She was lucky she wasn't dead.

     She struggled up once more, gasping out as her ribs protested, as her knees screamed when she kneeled. She straightened as best she could, staring up with a raised chin. She thought of her mother, her father, her younger brother. She thought of the life she'd only glimpsed in songs and tales of Before, the life they could have should they win, should they take down this force whom had swept over the kingdom like a plague, burning every last inch of beauty, kindness, or mercy. Some had lost that hope, long ago. Many, too many, and sometimes, even in this moment now— especially in this moment— she felt it too; the flames dying down, the cold hopelessness stretching out before her, forcing her to bend under this power that was just too big, too fierce, too powerful, like the ocean battering against the rocks, merciless and unrelenting, a kind of power that was uncomprehending to man. But, that's exactly why the only hope remaining lay with the Mischief; no single man should wield that kind of power.

     "With all due respect," she said, voice breathy and pained. "I would rather die at your feet like a mongrel than serve under your boot like a dog."

     His eyes didn't light up as he laughed, the sound more cutting than a sword clashing with a shield. "You give yourself too much credit, child. You're not on equal grounds with even a mongrel. You'll die in your cage like the vermin you are, prey to even the filthiest of beasts."

     She was caught under her arms once more and dragged backwards, away, her eyes burning into his as he grew smaller and smaller.

     "Sir, we've got another!" came a sudden shout. She looked over, and what she saw had her struggling, screaming, crying out, twisting frantically, kicking her bruised heels against the cement floor, begging, pleading.

     "Well well well...lets see if this little pup knows anything, and is willing to 'serve under my boot'. And if not..."

     She almost, almost, didn't catch his words as she was dragged away, screaming, pleading, thrashing as her younger brother was pushed before the king. 

     "...then lets see how much pressure we can put on him before she is willing to go from vermin to dog."

Hope pierces our hearts—

pins us, immobile over time

like the Sun's warm embrace

turned scorching when held too long,

like the wing of a butterfly

caught, forced still for fun and fascination

As we wait and we wait, wondering—

Hope the hemp that pulls us from the crashing waters,

and yet also the chains connected to our feet, 

dragging us further down under.