More than this poem

To the One,
who awoke everyday at 4AM to cook rice,
as I sat at the top of the stairs waiting for her return.
To the One,
who climbed those thirteen steps,
took my hand,
and brought me back to sheets and dreams.
To the One,
who has taken every wound,
from skin to cerebral, her own and others,
and tended them with her own blood and bone.
To the One,
who told me to “Come and be human,”
to exercise not just the sorrow and pain,
but to fly with arms wide open,
head back, mouth agape, full with laughter.
To the One,
who said to speak truths
even when it hurts.
To the One,
who had grief sit with her,
consumed by life’s losses,
and still awake at every dawn
praying for those who do not have the stomach for it
To the One,
who I told, “I hate you,”
as she held my face in her palms,
and replied,
“I love you.”

To the One.

Every time I loose myself I find
I’m left alone but you need to know

For you I’d break these walls
I’d choose to fall
I’m going to cross that line for you

I felt my heart grow,
and fall,     once more
lingering between hollowed graves, perforated by blood-dried wounds
decorated in bruises, fingerprints, and dying love stains

shut eyes lean towards the grey-scale,
climbing towards a God that will save me,
but to no avail,     back
   into the belly of the beast i go
gathering words of fragmented past lives,
demanding the humdrum beat of the dragonfly
to wither beneath,
   and above,
brittle twigs

this mind will be the death of me

but, Her smile came into view,
the audible high-pitch chuckle escapes Her throat,
and lays rest unto the palms of my hands-

She is wrapped in linen
governed by a lost land that trails down Her backside
curving into infinity