Sometimes, You Can Win

I cannot help but wonder:
Are these small sudden fortunes
an apology,
or a way of consoling me,
of reminding me how I am
looked after and still loved?
Thank you.
Not once have I dared to
be mad at you.
I could not.
But your ways of patching me up,
they are gifts,
small temporary joys
to stitch through a lifetime of
irrecoverable grief and sorrow.
I had to win because I lost.
I lost so much more
than I can ever win again.
I thank you still.

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You Learn I

You learn.

To live with pain.
To accept how some things
you cannot change
and most things you will be
left with no other choice
but to go on.
To move. It does not matter how slow
how unsteady your steps
most of the times you stumble
but you move and you keep moving.
To forgive people even when
they do not ask
for your forgiveness
and yes, that includes your self.
To take care of your self
because you know
if not you, who else
would be there?
To let go of people who do not
want anything to do with you.
To be uncaring about
what people think of you
but to be caring about how
you affect people.
To do more than what is
required of you.
To be there and to give
and not expect anything in return.
To show up and keep trying.
To let yourself be loved
but accept that you
cannot be loved
every day in the ways
you want to be loved.
To be more active
by taking duties
and responsibilities
to heart and yes, that includes
people, relationships, this world,
and what’s beyond.
To be better at being on your own
because you know you are
a singular type of person
and you are able
in far more ways
than you can now know.
To give yourself room to breathe.
To cry, suffer, and take the hurt
when you need it most.
To continue to love.
To discover the mysteries of the heart,
its elasticity that does not
seem to have a limit,
its capacity to still be good
in spite of the pain, the heaviness,
the dark, the brokenness.
To reserve moments in every day
to remember, cherish, and honor
the greatest love
and the greatest person you love
never to let anything rob you
of her memory.
To live and breathe and move and still be.

You learn.

Color Me Bad

You either
hate him
for everything
he is not
or
adore him
for everything
he is.
Hating is easy.
Loving is a duty.

Go Back

You have gone
back to the waves
back to the sky
back to the stars
back to the hands.
I go
back to the love
back to the arms
back to the womb
back to the heart.
We go
back to remember
back to relive
back to retrieve
back to restart.

Remnants

Cut off from distractions
I was left entertaining
this dark, hollow Friend.
He sat at a chair in my house
then roamed every corner
dangling the piece
of my life
that was missing.
The hole was deep
its absence heavy
its emptiness a weight
I could not easily carry.
The cracked paint,
the stains,
the collapsing ceiling
of this house
reflected the lives of the living—
Once the two legs of the triangle
now just two lines
trying to find a way to intersect.
The light of the house has dimmed.
Both faces cannot meet
each other’s eyes.
Both pairs of eyes blind
in the dark
Both too proud
too pained
to guide
each other through.
The story of the moths and the flame
does not tell us
what would happen to the two moths
had the flame been put out first.
They could be together
but apart
held together by the
memory of the flame.
My dark, hollow Friend
held vials
of our tears,
our laughter,
our dreams.
Someday
a light will guide us both
back to the flame
and we will keep it burning then.