Thursday, June 17 {part 1}

It’s hit harder than I thought it would.
Emotions moving like the tides,
rising quickly in the quiet moments
and retreating slowly,
wave by wave.

My hands feel the weight of it,
the heaviness of the emptiness.
It sits in my palms,
trickling through the cracks—
an hourglass with infinite sand.

I lay awake in bed—
left alone with my heart,
my musings and ideations,
my tears of salt
dripping slowly into each ear canal.

It never truly had a label,
but it brought me joy—
joy and confusion and
confidence and
comfort to know that I am capable.

Sometimes

Sometimes
I paint pictures in my head
with sweeps of blue sky,
dapples of flowers, and
soft yellow suns.

Sometimes
I paint with intention,
making plans,
forseeing the white clouds
and packed-dirt paths
leading to somewhere unknown.

Sometimes
my paintings don’t align with the plans,
thoughts of togetherness are replaced by aloneness
and my paint brush rushes to cover over the blips.

Sometimes
I paint pictures layers deep,
hiding the bitter winds,
violent storm clouds,
and disappointed face
under sweeps of blue sky,
dapples of flowers, and
soft yellow suns.