I’m not an easy crier,

surrender is hard for me;

surrender to myself especially.

when emotions whirl and hover

clenching moves from my

rib cage





I hear myself acknowledge

my fear of crying

somewhere open to others,

in places where my feelings

need soft padding

instead of so called safe space.

something like tonight is as various

as tomorrow,

and we deserve to speak

those varieties to each other.

as likelihoods

and experience,

as fire starter

and fires extinguished.

as pouring rains and undrinkable water.

as safety with each other,

and safety from everyone.

as no,

we do not engage you,


my fear needs

to talk to you.

as this feeling is new for me,

and this feeling is older than me.

this feeling is older than me.

the most grounding sentence I know

reassures me that violence is real.

like cabral said — ’tell no lies;

claim no easy victories’.

be careful to suspend easy when you imagine.

be careful to notice what the brain omits.

be careful to notice what is offered that’s new.

the least grounded person I know feels

all of their feelings,

and trusts all of their thoughts.

i wonder then, what is real for them?

what is real,


calling for more attention?




in waves.


as threads unwind,

but not before the question must be asked —

is this the moment to tell the truth,

or is this the moment to let you feel safe?

when we can’t give each other both…

my body trails off,

and she saves that question.