Home Exists...

Photographer: Scott Martin

Photographer: Scott Martin

A suitcase filled with a place that I no longer connect with 

or exist within

It’s strange to me how a place can absorb me 

and as soon as I leave it continues unflinching 

The clerk at the grocery store down the street from my jungle home 

will continue to stack shelves and work the register. 

As I write this, I imagine the parrots are squawking and the people are moving to the soundtrack of the lively jungle that surrounds them. 

Nothing stops just because I’m not there to witness it anymore.

Life continues on with or without me 

I’m ready to trade out these clothes for something more appropriate

I sift through boxes, exchanging the shorts and bikinis 

for wool socks and beanies.

I once believed home could be anywhere

but I’m beginning to understand that belief to be flawed

and that home, to me

can only exist if I have

the mountains to greet me 

the river to cleanse me

and you to kiss me.

Just One More...

It’s easy for you to tell yourself you aren’t worthy

To disappear behind your expensive wardrobe 

and make yourself  believe that a night out is enough to curb your craving to be anything and anywhere else. 

Just one more drink and this will be the best night ever 

Just one more drink and I’ll be happy

You wake up foggy, surrounded by your same four-walls or those of a stranger.

He doesn’t make you coffee 

you trip up awkwardly looking for your lace black panties

and decide their not worth another second of the shame 

Those are replaceable

unlike your dignity

Walking home puffy eyed you think about your number

and begin to count on one and then two hands;

losing count

This wasn’t the first time you left a piece of you behind in unfamiliar calloused hands.

But for a night he was that vacation you’ve always talked about taking

He was the roar of the river and the smell of the pine

He was the fire that warmed you while you sipped whisky

Talking into the night about the lives you use to live

and will never go back to.

Wildly Free

I’m learning how to be alone

To look at that couple wildly in love

and know I don’t have that because I’m too busy being wildly free

so when he devours me with that ‘I’m going to tame you’ stare.

I’ll disarm him with my ‘I’m striving for greatness’ eyes 

You, with your olive skin and sandy blonde hair, 

aren’t ready to walk down that road with me

My sheets are for me to get tangled and dream in

I exist in a world where the road is my front yard

where howling at the moon, naked, with a bottle of whisky

is not only accepted but strongly encouraged. 

Where vulnerability and bravery are synonyms 

and laughing deeply, loudly, and uncontrollably is a prescribed medication

I don’t have time to worry about you leaving 

or what happens when the road calls

I’m sure your skin tastes like the caramel color it is 

and those calloused hands could make my back arch 

but I’m learning to fuel my own fire 

and raising my glass to those who are deliciously in love.