Before
I'm not sure what there
was
but it most certainly
wasn't love,
wasn't burning for every
waking moment
to become an 
indestructible memory,
wasn't the ecstasy
the guessing
the utter and complete
unraveling,
wasn't the mana that
would revive me,
then kill me
and birth me to bleed
again,
wasn't the nights spent
wondering
how could this have 
manifest,
wasn't the car rides
wearing water
when all I had were sobs
and tears,
wasn't' the morning you
said yes
before you ever knew my name
for "before" was meant so
I 
could love you when you 
came.

The sunlight splashed
Upon your cheek
Illuminating a truth
I had yet to behold
For bathed in light
And birthed by warmth
Was the smile of an 
angel
Descended from stars
And forged by flames
Sent from He
Who has given us love
That had overwhelmed 
my heart
And entered my soul
Carrying me to this
present moment
Where time would sleep
And my spirit would
wake
As sunlight splashed
Upon your cheek  

I'm sorry I say
over 
and over again.
I can't stop apologizing
for the things I have done,
haven't done,
won't do
will forget to do,
will eventually do,
was destined to do,
yet all she says is 
Stop
Stop
Stop.
I stare into the books of 
her eyes,
the story of her life
written in a spiral
inside the stormy iris,
clouded by the mistakes
she made.
I made,
we all made
on this tiny little Earth,
in this tiny little galaxy
in this tiny little universe
inside the stormy iris
of a God
who perhaps
can make mistakes
​too. 

That afternoon
On the fifth floor
When I forgot what it 
Meant to be
Afraid,
And you let me see
What you had spent
Your entire life
Trying to hide from the 
World,
I wept with your tears
As if I had always been
Inside of you,
Tucked away
In a space
That even you could not
Destroy.
For yes,
Despite my belief in the 
Search,
And the courageously laid 
Out
Plan,
There would be no finding what could never be lost
Only a revealing 
Of the love
You had saved
For me

I walked miles around
Writer's block
Only to find myself
Surrounded by the 
Swooners
Who waxed poetic 
Lost to the truth
That there were already
3 words to say
I love you

One day
I started practicing 
medicine
As if I were writing a poem.
Deliberately empty
I was listening to the soft,
small voice
asking to find a way home in
this vast, hard world. 
Listening to the story,
revealing.
as if eery syllable
was the last breath
of God
I forgot I was human
and brought forth what
could
and couldn't
be me.
For what really are
symptoms
and poems
but reasons to become
silent
and speak what can't be
said
​with words.

I watched her for nights,
glowing. 
The overhead lights 
pretending to be her moon.
Sometimes I lost her in the 
dark
as I went chasing after her
fingers
dancing themselves to the
beat of some other mystery.
She told me It didn't turn out 
right, the colors and the 
shades.
The channel broken
somewhere along the way as 
she sipped her evening tea.
Hardly able to read my own 
handwriting, I sat
dumbfounded by what had 
manifested on the page.
I had never seen something
so beautiful,
yet so broken,
so miraculous
Yet so human
Where in this hauntingly
disastrous world had she 
gone to bring back the sky
that had been painted 
between the trees by a 
creator weeping in joy
knowing that one day a 
daughter would wake
and bring to life
what could never be born. 

Love starts hard
Then it gets harder.
At some point it becomes
Impossible
And in the moment you sever your 
Ties with love
To be free of what is no longer 
Attainable,
You will be filled up
Like an overflowing pot of tea
Steaming
Steeping
Seething at the thought
That the only way you can be 
Poured back into the world
To be sipped 
To be saved
To be savored
Is to find the cups
That once were pots
And share what came
​From Me.