Deers in the kitchen.
Cigarette butts and roaches.
Time well spent,
between the stairs and the sunflowers.
Somewhere between rock bottom,
and the basement.
I feel something stirring,
like the breath of life,
filling my lungs,
forcing my heart to beat.
There's hope yet.
They saw the warning signs.
Kept quiet and nodded,
but screamed through shaking heads
and crazy eyes.
What could they do,
but stash away their love for me.
Bits and pieces, here and there,
until it became a stockpile.
They took the pieces of heart I gave them,
And kept it warm and safe.
Fed it plenty of love, salt and vinegar chips
and pickled beans.
So they could give it back to me,
doubled in size and ready to fill the cracked
and empty places.
Like puzzle pieces falling into place.
They remind me who I am.
Like anchors in a sea,
they keep me from floating away.
When I am low on love,
they fill my cup so it overflows.
I'm just screaming into the cosmos.
So much to say, yet nothing.
Same old, same old.
Trying to break cycles here,
no big deal.
Not like it's costing me,
and arm or leg, or paw,
or anything.
But one way or another,
we all have to pay for our sins,
against others and ourselves.
And the price we pay,
for slighting ourselves
is the hardest pill to swallow.
But I will pay the ferryman,
every outstanding tear,
so I can get to the otherside.
