Every time he comes around
I hold my head a bit higher
I make my lips a bit wetter
I arch my back a bit more than the week before
I call this stage “yearning”
Feeling it in my pit
Letting the fiend in me find her light
Letting fire and wind take my spirit with them When he leaves
Needing it
I call this “curbing my appetite”
Letting the excess out in puddles on his street
Letting go of the figments in my recesses
That frame him as a sustenance or
Something good to eat
This is “self-courting”
Learning to meet myself on common ground
Learning to hold my head above the water
Breathing for the very first time
In years
Releasing a heartbreak’s cycle-worth of tears from my system
Replenishing
Root to stem
Stem to pistil
We’re still growing
About the Creator
as told by heather 👩🏽🦰
Passion is my profession. My soul’s desires leak from me through music and poetry...Wanna hear?
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