Enough

Some things are so painful they have to be remembered in reflections,
whispers,
the imprint they left on the glass,
the bruises on skin or heart.

The moment in time when the fist hit… no.
The words that carved you empty… too raw a wound.
But you, my heart, my anchor, myself:
you did not deserve these scars.

That does not make them go away.

And yet, here you stand, brave, vulnerable,
alive.
You formed your bruises into stories of strength,
acknowledged the whispers as the lashing
of another’s insecurity.

You know their pain does not make you less than.

You are more than the words whispered in the dark of the heart,
more than the wounds you didn’t earn
but healed from anyway.

You are the joy that transforms your smile when you nurture a loved one,
the hope and wonder you face the future with.
You are the silly moments, the cat cuddles, the way
you refuse to compromise your worth.

You are enough.

Prism Blooming

I.

I thought you were a prism – the birthplace of rainbows,
the hope for a future far from my grief.
You showed me a world built of color:
sunsets and deep conversation and dreaming;
emotion, electric with light.
But in the end, you were just a kaleidoscope
a jumble of broken parts I tried to make art
that never quite fit the way we planned.

I don’t blame you. You were trying to make yourself art too.
Our pictures were just too different, focus hazy.
The light fractured. The sun set. We rose separate.
I’m learning.

II.

Days passed, then weeks. I don’t remember much – it was all a blur
of staring, of crying, of not crying and staring empty some more.

Then a bud. A crack. A bloom of life. One night
spent among strangers who awoke as friends.
It wasn’t a prism, but it was light.

III.

As I stumbled through the next days, the bud grew
until the blaze, tended sweetly, became a garden.
Staring in the mirror, I forgot it was reflection
and I saw the colors for the first time.
I wasn’t looking for imperfection, and so I didn’t find flaws
just the prism radiating,
rainbow blooming through and beneath.
All along, the prism I needed
was me.

Mosaic Heart

I.

When my heart fractured, it wasn’t beautiful. It was just broken. The edges cut deep into muscle and soul. I was more exhaustion than man, brittle and shaking. But if there’s one lesson my childhood taught me, it’s “don’t leave a mess.” So I picked up the shards, letting the tears bleed.

II.

Can you glue a heart back together with whispers of hope and the memory of dreaming? Or will it always be broken, even if you can find its shape again? I didn’t know. I fumbled the pieces into shape, and I hoped.

III.

It became a meditation, fitting one piece with the next, bridging colors and atriums, reconnecting arteries and emotion. Sometimes I lost the thread of hope and had to start again. Sometimes the tears washed a piece free. I may have fractured, but I did not crumble, and slowly, I became art.

IV.

Maybe I was always a masterpiece and you just taught me to forget. My heart casts a thousand reflections, every one of them beautiful, as I learn to love again.

V.

I start with myself.

Wants Are Temporary. Actions Are Not.

For the past year or so, I’ve been barely writing. I used to write every day, but somewhere amidst the muddy whirlwind of life, I fell out of the habit. As much as I love writing, there was always something I wanted to do more.

It’s a painful thing to reflect on. I’ve watched more movies and shows in the past six months than in the two years preceding them, and I’m convinced I’m lesser for it. My entire life, my most constant love was putting pen to paper or hands to keyboard. My brain works best when spelled out in front of me, and I think a lot less clearly without it.

Lately I’ve been thinking about writing a lot, but I still find myself following the siren call of wants more often than not. Then, a couple nights ago, starting a reflection journal for the first time, I had a thought that led to a bit of a breakthrough.

Wants come and go. I don’t have to let them rob me of achieving my goals on their way through. As I thought more about it, I picked up my reflection journal and wrote.


Wants are temporary. Actions are not. Choose your actions based on your long term goals rather than temporary desires.

When I let my wants guide my actions, I was taking time from the actions that would grow me in the directions I actually wanted to go.

Last night, I wanted to watch a movie, eat something… anything but what I needed to do. Instead, I sat down and began to write.

Friendship and Power Differentials

Some of the people I’m closest with are much younger, and a few were minors when we first met. They are some of the most dynamic, fantastic, vibrant, and talented people I’ve ever been fortunate enough to have in my life.

However, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a power differential between adults and minors. Full stop. And that is something I have at the back of my head all the time when interacting with folks who are under eighteen. Not because folks under eighteen can’t be mature, responsible, and oftentimes better humans than people older than me, but because they are facing challenges and experiences very different from the kind I face as someone older, and do so as someone lacking societal agency, and systematically disempowered legally.

They also often face experiences for the first time I’m old hat at. Their fresh perspective can result in novel and fantastic solutions, but as someone with more experience in xyz situation, it’s my job to share things I’ve learned about a situation so the other person can step into a situation aware. They’re still welcome to heed or not heed my advice. I am not an all-powerful god who must be obeyed. But just like any time there’s someone new on a team at work, it’s the responsibility of existing members to give them the lay of the land in a respectful and considerate way.

Younger folks should be respected. They should be given agency. They should be treated with the same thoughtfulness and consideration as an adult, but adults should also keep that power differential in mind in their interactions, and recognize the responsibility and gift of the trust of someone much younger. Honor people, honor their perspectives and agency, but recognize power differentials and act in a way that honors that difference.

Just like the power differential between a boss and an employee must be considered in interactions, the power differential between an adult and a minor must be considered. That doesn’t mean don’t interact with each other. You both can gain a lot of perspective and growth from interactions. But it does mean interacting thoughtfully and recognizing power inbalances, just as you should with any other human being.

I also recognize that this view is somewhat ethnocentric. For one, the arbitrary choice of 18 for adulthood is not the case in every society, and the responsibility of different age groups vary greatly both country to country and family to family.

Recognize power differentials, but also recognize the personhood of every individual.

Thoughts on Routedness versus Rootedness

It’s been a while since I first read this article on the Critical Polyamorist blog, but even in the re-reading, it still means so much.

Routedness, Not Rootedness, in Geography and Desire

While a lot of the author’s experiences fall outside of my own, the continual thread of examining and re-examining through introspection was something that really stood out to me as aligning with my own values. When the author talked about questioning whether polyamory or monogamy was a better fit for them, it left me thinking about my own regular experiences with that questioning, especially recently with the intensity of my current romantic relationship. I don’t view this questioning as a bad thing, though I always return to the importance of polyamory in my own life. Rather, I think it’s an affirmation of the importance I place on recognizing the fluidity of connection, and that people, myself included, are allowed to and often do change in the way they relate to the world and each other.

Growth, to me, is the one sacred commandment. I strive each day to grow as a person. But I can only grow by examining and re-examining myself and my views to search out points that need further exploration, or contain problematic kernels.

All this is a longwinded way of saying that desire to question myself and my views is one I relate to and hold sacred, as the author, at least to me, appears to.

I also relate to her sense of wanderlust. As someone who traveled a lot early in my life, from traversing state borders to traversing country borders to traversing oceans and seas, I’ve never forgotten the sense of wonder new places grant me. It reminds me a bit of the high of childhood: where everything is magical and new, and therefore full of possibility. And, too, being exposed to different cultures, languages, and ways of thought allows me to analyze my own in ways I might not otherwise have thought of, leading, again, to growth.

But home is also important to me. I spent most of my life without a place that felt remotely safe or stable, and as a result, it’s only recently I’ve begun to learn what it is to feel home. As someone who has seen both sides of that coin, as someone who constantly thirsts for travel and growth, home is still sacred. Even as I seek experiences and places far from my own, I’ve learned it’s so much easier and more fulfilling to do so from the perspective of an additive experience than that of an escape.

To me, that is routedness. And, as with any aspect of my life, that sense of home is not forever tied to one place or person. Fluidity and change are my mantras, and I am not afraid of them, though I also do not seek to flit from one place or person to another with nary a thought. Rootedness, to me at least, is that dismissal of fluidity and the learning available through change. Routedness is the thoughtful openness to new experiences and ways of viewing the world.

Like the author of the article, I, too, find myself pursuing a variety of different projects at all times. And as each is mastered, I must set new goals within them or lose all interest. It is the pursuit of growth above the achievement of it that draws me.

This is reflected in my choice of connections. I have friends across political spectrums, generations, genders, cultures, and country lines. I thrive on the differing perspectives they bring to the table, even when I don’t agree.

Ultimately, then, this article resonates with me on a fundamental level, so I’ll conclude with this:

“Above all, grow.”

Yesterday they drew my blood
but found only ice,
the rage frozen beneath my skin,
heart straining.

Sometimes I
forget that my blood should be liquid.

You tell me the personal is political.
I remember threats in bathroom stalls,
suicide rates, the courts
of public opinion.
My identity is not yours to debate.

I ball my hands into fists
and walk away.

—the political is personal

Love and the Language of Connection

Today I was pondering labels and the many forms of connection, and I had some realizations.

I view friendship as the foundation of any relationship, connection, or feeling of kinship. Every relationship I willingly allow into my life is, first and foremost, friendship. Sometimes it is also romantic, or sexual, or others of the myriad forms and ways of connecting, but that connection of personality, intellect, compassion, and relation is incredibly important to me.

Within those connections, and made families, and changes, and romantic ebb and flows, and the overwhelmingly integral strand of friendship, I also like to recognize that change is inevitable. Whether it is a deepening of romance, or a lessening of connection, or a change in the forms relation takes, I want to allow relationships to evolve in the ways that best fit the people engaging in them and their dynamic connection.

I do feel like labels can stilt that ability to ebb and flow and grow, by applying expectations for a relationship, and consequently guilt if or when those roles change and grow. But I also see their usefulness within our current cultural framework, where they allow understanding for others and sometimes a description that allows us to crystallize our own feelings. In addition, current language is weak in its ability to describe the diversity of connection without relying on loaded words.

How do you approach language around labels, love, and connection? Can you relate to the above?