How to come alive again

I will not hide.

I will not make
myself more palatable for you
because you prefer to not
sit in a moment of
disruptive discomfort.
A squirm up your broken back.

I will not apologize…
for any of it.
I will not gloss over,
or gloss up,
or omit, or leave out.
Because no one who
loves me actually wants that.

If you want to know,
there \is a beautiful thing/
called…a question.
Do you know it?
Do you know asking
is a deep form of pure love?

Use your lips to form one;
ask questions.
The air needs the beauty.
Ask every person in your life.
Ask the /hard\ ones.
It is the very action
that says,
‘You are important.
I want to see more.’

The entirety of who I am on
this spinning round goblin globe,
I now base on \my/ radical truths.
Why are you afraid?
What are you not asking yourself?

We are all achingly desperate
to say the hard, buried things.
And, the belief that we are seen
and understood?
Even more ||sweetly satiating||

Tell us. Tell me.

I promised my soul /honesty/
For myself.
Not for you \any of you/
I am not here to explain
or compromise
or excuse.

I yellscream these days,
and if you need to protect
delicate ears from hearing
what doesn’t make sense-
feel free to stock up
on puffed white cottonballs and
junior high greengossip.
Meet your friends at the
maze colored lunch table.

Stuff your ears with whatshouldbe.
Sounds…nourishing, doesn’t it?
I am dining on Neptune.

Hold your hands to your neck,
it is all stuck – a metal trap
I didn’t put it there.
But there’s a reservation
waiting for you, here with me.

I am drenching these
forgotten solar seeds
in my own chest –
watching them grow
away your gaze,
sharing them only with
those who
know their orbital origin.

/I will not hide.
I will not hide./

For those who weeded
when I grew vines
from my own mouth,
receiving with fertile ears.
For those who saved the
eggshells others walked
on to create deeper soil.
To feed.

For those who looked at me,
not upon me.
For those who watched my
eyes birth floods of
confusion and finally,
the clearest horizon.
For those who knocked,
said, let me in – I want to know.

For those who said,
I will help you pull the
\yoked blades/ through the muck.
For those who still offer their
broken backs as a place for me
to rest, recover.

You and I are here for the
bittersugar fruit we all sink
our hungry fangs into.
For those who needed
immediate feeding,
and those who still feed.

For those who helped water,
and created thunder
storms to protect.
For those who became the sun,
and helped me simmer like oil
under the beautiful, sweet heat.

Because, when this body
is \done and collapsed/
and my blonde blood is
draining into the tilled soil,
I will rebirth those who
bloomed with me as
demanding soul snakes.
Turn the rest to stone.

And we will overflow in
green-scaled unheard songs…
and never be ashamed.
I will never be ashamed,
again.