I live my life through the words I write
I had a safe space.
I invited people in.
I realized
my decision was premature
too late.
My safe space dissolved
into an empty void
for months,
tainted by the destruction
I had invited in,
in naivete.
A piece of me broke away.
Remembering
if I made it once
I can make it again
and this time,
add an extra padlock on the door.
No one expects an invitation
so I disregard any felt obligation
to extend one.
Reclaiming safety
for my soul.
You keep meaning and meaning
to make time.
You think about it,
plan for it somewhere down the line,
but you don’t stop to think about the place
the line stops.
Eventually,
all the lines stop
and you wish to have acted differently.
The wood has been treated
with pressure.
Built to sustain hardships.
Arranged with equal spacing,
board after board of wood builds a wall
strong, and powerful.
Blocking more than can pass through,
it makes you believe you have a chance,
through the narrow openings.
Reality stands different.
Border. Barrier. Boundary.
All names apply.
Its commonality in partitioning property
eludes us,
the shared spread of land between us
stretches too far.
A new collection
of wood designed to withstand pressure,
due to arrive soon.
I take at least a dozen breaths,
formulate in my mind what I want to say
typing it out,
erasing, and typing it out again.
This is a safe space.
I ask the question.
How do you know when
you need more than just self care?
Reactions range from widened eyes,
to nodding heads and note-taking,
but him; he offers empathy.
We hardly ever need an engine replacement;
maybe it’s just an oil change or a tire rotation that we need.
Muted on the microphone,
I tremble and quiver in my thick wool sweater
as a tear slides off my cheek
and lands on the keyboard.
Dawning Words 