voices in the sun

the sun was shining bright

and so I tended the garden

to keep myself and the land healthy

the sun was shining bright

and I was happy with my work

and my body was hot and throbbing

and I was covered in sweat

So I took a nice bier and sat down to look over it all

I felt good and warm and strong

and listened to the beautiful birds

And the breeze came and I heard voices

the people I loved were with me

the sun was shining bright

and we were sitting there


my turn

I have relationship anxiety

and so people that I love abandon me.

They tell me it’s not love, but I know what love is.

And they tell me I’m too dependent. Needy. Undesirable. Unsustainable. That I’m looking in the wrong place, for love.

And they tell me I suck the life out of them, and leave them black and blue.

My anxiety causes me pain. I cry when people abandon me because it makes me feel like a monster. I feel alone. I have trouble trusting in new friends, or companions.

My anxiety is often debilitating and causes periods of depression.

Maybe I’m too curious. People fascinate me. I become obsessed with them, wanting to know everything about them, how they think.

Maybe I’m too empathetic. I can’t help it. I climb inside other souls at times. And feel how they feel. Sometimes I cry for them, so they don’t have to, so they might be happy. 

Maybe it’s because I was born too early and spent my first weeks in a machine, never connecting with my mother.

My cold, conceited, tired mother.

She was the first to tell me I sucked the life out of her.

She was the first to push me away. 

She left me with a mother-sized hole in my heart.

But I defied her model of love. I watched others love, other families, and copied that. I fell in love, and I nourished my children with the love equal to that of the perfect mother. My children are beautiful with curiosity and empathy, and they love me. I know what love is.

But I still have this hole, this anxiety.

I wait for love, afraid. I yearn for friends.

But when I get the courage to try, I go too deep too fast. All in. All or none.

My therapist tells me to be moderate. I’m trying.

I can’t blame people for not trusting me, or losing trust. Throwing me overboard.

They tell me it’s not love, but I know what love is.

They see my mother-sized hole.

They see my monster self.

I try too hard to love them. To find love in them.

In them.

When I should be looking in me.

Maybe being moderate means starting at me and working from there.

After too much loss and too many tears,

I’m beginning to see an old friend was right.

It’s my turn.

To be a mother to myself. 

To love 


the rain

more cracks on tracks time is square

more souls so cold without a care

rumble mumble mumble they all begin to flee

my friend scares them but she doesn’t scare me

we giggle and whirl zig zag around

broken souls we connect with no sound

walking reflections I hold her hand

she tugs me gently out of the sand

quiet and wet I show her my face

we hug for a moment to get out of this place

inside of each other a black and blue day

unable to trust she throws me away

crying and watching my sky is still black

alone I wait for my rain to come back.