A Poem Or Two

Hello dear readers!
So as you've probably noticed, I've thrown all sense of consistency with this blog out of this window. This is for a few different reasons, such as mental health, busy life, and sometimes completely forgetting this blog exists. However, I'm still trying to keep it active sometimes, if only to have something to look back on and say "yeah, this is something I did once upon a time, look at the progress I made on it".

*Cue digging through recent google docs to find something I've worked on to share because I didn't plan ahead as usual*

So something that I've been working on lately is writing poetry. I'm hoping to publish a book of poetry soon, and currently I'm in the content-producing phase, which is the first out of three or four stages. I'll move into organization next, where I pick which poems go where and lay them out, then edit and work on formatting the document, and finally find a publisher of some sort. Anyway, the point of that step-by-step detail on how to write a book of poetry was to say, I'm sharing a couple pieces of my recent poetry in this blog post for ya'll to enjoy (kinda like a sneak peek)! Enjoy!

Home

"Go" says the sun, "go home"
And the clouds and the ground say
"Go home"
"We will see you safely on your way
Light your path, providing shade, providing soft earth to travel on"
Trees and sunbeams, birds and beasts, say
"You are safe here, but home needs you. Go home, we will still be here when you return,"
"Go home.
It doesn't matter where your home might be,
Go home."

But the moon and the sea,
Stars and water,
Tell you "come"
"Come home"
"We know where you belong, and we will welcome you,
You may rest and be weightless, worryless,
Come home"
The man in the moon extends his hand
The water waves invitingly
The stars dance for you,
All singing "come,
Come home, there is dancing and food and sleep,
There is music and warmth and an absence of gravity,
We love you,
Come home."

My Hands, My Story

These hands
My hands
know my story
and tell it well.
My hands know
what my eyes see
inside of me
what my mind thinks
of what is inside of it
what my heart knows
about what it contains
And my hands know how to tell a story.
These things bleed through
in words, in smudges of graphite and paint
in motions, in actions
in my very existence
I am open open open
and there are still things you’ll never know about me
I am also closed.
But these hands
these hands know
and they tell my story well
they speak my thoughts well
they say my words better than my mouth will
My hands speak of flowers and broken shards
rebellion and anxiety
contradiction, and agreement
fear and bravery,
selflessness, selfishness
selfish selflessness
stubborn silence and silent stubborness
My hands tell of happy childhoods and sad pasts
old past love and new bright burning love
tenderness and anger
and a gentle trembling that once was rage.
My hands know
and my hands speak.