She picks at me in ways that lay me open,
shines a headlamp on my bones
she finds my fossilized remains
and lines them up–

She touches each raw nerve one at a time
just like a surgeon, gets me sobbing with relief
when she is done, when I’m let loose

She makes her money clean with me
though I don’t understand why I cannot
break through my own skin, why I cannot
heal myself

The Tide

The tide never stopped rolling in on me,
it is constant and true like they said
though I didn’t believe it–
oh I guess I thought they were casting big shadows
trying to scare the kids straight and up
and I’d find a way if there was one
to lay on the beach without getting wet

I’ve been soaked
for half of my life
darling, it doesn’t
kill you like that

it will dry you back out and in moments
of peaceful sun and blissful breeze
it just feels too good–
they weren’t warning you, just reassuring
that nothing exists that can last–
when you’re craving the tide again, you’ll see
it is constant and true like they said

Truth in Times of Peace

The truth that finds me in times of peace
when I’m trying to make a bed
with gentle hands,
trying to paint a daisy on
a dainty piece of china,
trying to love soft when
I want to run hard–
incensed that I can’t do it–
is that the things they took away,
that they replaced with steel and bricks
made me too large to play small games,
too massive to kneel, too hard to mold–
and I wasn’t a flaw when I stopped praying
when I stopped asking and stopped explaining
when I erected a world all on my own
it was quite correct.
I was never looking for love, in fact,
I was always scratching at freedom,
falling and following those who
looked like they had a key.
But the door that I kicked open
when I’d had enough was never locked
and the truth I find in times of peace,
despite trying hard to get love right,
is that I will be alright
if I find I can’t.

After All

I feel it rise in me
this hot retort
we’re gonna disagree
past the point of us
making sense anymore

I wonder if it’s fear
or just the tiredness of all
the fucking sadness–
eat or starve but
everybody feeds themselves

I’m not a savior but
I also ain’t nobody’s
trial drug, another dose
to see if a little more love
could help

There’s meaning where you make it–
if you find yours at the bar
I wish you well
‘cuz it ain’t me, babe
after all