look what i found

i wrote this last summer:

I am tumbling through a dark abyss of an almost lover's rejection. I reached to the intangiable and found that I had lost what in fact was never mine. He seemed like an oak tree of Vermont. His familiar trunk quenches in sugary syrup. I would've loved to taste his maple tears. My natural hair is tousled, waved, and untamed like the ocean. I have a third eye composed of inner light that seeps out of my soul. I see with all my eyes the way you stand with poise. You are routed. How do you brave the storm? She came in and blew the possibility of having you out of my head. Meanwhile, I am writing my storm to ride my storm.

i wrote this three nights ago:

Dear Julie,
I am sedated by my own breath. I have just finished a lengthy session of yoga on my new mat. The smell of the fresh rubber still lingers in my nose. When I was balancing in each pose, I turned to my mirrior and looked deep into my eyes. My iris became a focal point. I stared right into my soul. I road the inhale of my breath and felt my lungs collapse with each exhale. I was connected to my entire body- soles of my feet, to the top of my head. My body was a circle of one life. My heart, the center point, equi-distant to each point of energy that encompassed it. I dove into the vibes that mingled and sang through my mind. I whispered positive affirmations. "I am strong" I said. I hummed, feeling the vibrations in my throat. "I am in charge of my life," I said. I flet like I could acheive anything with this new wave of acceptance. I forgave myself for my latest mistakes and reminded myself that it's okay to make more. Each day, each son, each snow, each storm, each breath, each pose, is teaching me how to release anything binding my heart. I am learning to go with the flow of the seasons. I think you would be proud of me. Each day, I tighten my grip on my life.

I miss you,
Shannon

I wrote this last night:

vissions
waves crashing against her sunburnt scalp
her cheeks slightly bronzed
her tongue speechless
the power of each moment
when it arrives, planting seeds
into her heart

vissions
slidding down the treehouse oak banister
furnished, polished, coated with ivory
summertime
when she puts her butterfly wings on

vissions
she wants to hear a lullaby
in a shady spot
with leaves in her hair

vissions
taste like watermelong
smell of freshly moved lawn
sound like laughter
feel like the breath of earth
look like an open window