Who are you, what do you want?

I want to know the way you hold your lips in deepest concentration, and
in deepest slumber.
I want to hear the sound of your quiet breathing, and heart beating, and what catches your breath in wonder.
How do you like your eggs, and would you stop everything to embrace a moment’s distraction of love passing through your kitchen.
I want to know the twinkle of mischief before an eruption of silliness, and how you shake your tush in happy dance. I want to know that you’ll play with me, engaging the inner children of our hearts, and never falter.
At the end of a long day do you retreat to your cave? I want to know by the way you move, without a word, if you would like some company.
When everything seems lost and all hope has fled, do you still greet each day with a made bed?
I want to know the warrior side of you that stands for all things good and moral, and does not suffer fools yet seeks to uplift and enlighten them.
I want to know how we fit, cheek to cheek or hip to hip. Where you bend do I flow, where you seed, do I sow?
Should I come to you with doubtful fears, do you know the way to dry my tears?
When the children come to you with questions, I want to know that you will look them in the eye and speak to them as the glowing stardust they are.
I want to know how your eyes soften when you watch me or our babes, and think I don’t see.
I want to know your strength wrapped around me in the abyss of rapture, and as the breath of new life breaks forth.
As thunder rolls will you look at me with knowing, take my hand and tumble into bliss?
Will you see my heart for what it is, and rising, match it with your own glow? Curl your yin around my yang and let the puzzle pieces of our dented faith restore the peace in one another?
In darkest night, with Luna bright, I want to know the way you sigh when turning, find my heart nearby.
I want to know each new line beside your eyes and trace the years in the silvering of your hair and the ageing of your body.
I want to know that never again will either of us wonder if we are loved, dearest friend of mine.

k.d.w Oct.17 (raw)


Days like this

Mama never said there’d be days like this:
my seratonin imbalance is louder than my faith,
the voices in my disordered mind
drown my ancestral wisdoms.

Mama never said there’d be days like this.
Mama said: I won’t help you if you won’t help yourself.
Mama said: Are you bleeding? No? Then you’re fine.
Mama said: Eat your green beans.
Mama said: I don’t believe you.

k.d.w. Nov. 17 (raw)



The voices in my head are not a symphony finely tuned and precisely executed.
My brain is a bowl of mashed potatoes. Deliciously carb-loaded. Dropped on the floor.
My sanity is the bowl. A million scattered pieces of hand thrown pottery in goo.

k.d.w. Nov. 17