Is there any greater gift
than to be forced back into yourself
to watch your petals fall away
to remember where you stem from?

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How do you mourn the loss of you?
What flowers do you pick from your garden?
How do you dress your body for burial?
How do you say goodbye?

The season is changing again
and each time you’re lost
tucked deep into the earth
you grow roots
you sprout up
you burrow through the dirt to find the light.

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I can feel the weight dissipate. I’m not a birthday person but I feel this. The release. The letting go. The mourning.

I’ve felt it pool in my eyes and drip from my nose. I grew up. I threw it all away. I’m lighter, and it’s dizzying.  Pulled the ripcord. It’s nauseating.

And then it’s calm.

I’ve held on to so much these past few years. I’m so sorry to let you go, but my arms were shaking. I like to think you want it this way.

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A dream is a carnivorous thing.

It may cost you an arm
or a leg
or a heart.

It’ll sink its teeth, lock its jaw and latch.

Let that thing you love consume you.
You are fuel for a fire.

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The brain and the heart are 73% water.
The lungs are 83.
What we think, what we feel are fluid. Rippling. 
The same thing that pumps our chest steals our air.
We are capable of anything.

The human body is made of the same matter 
That nurtures life.
That crushes cities.
We are capable.
What kind of storm are you?

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