The sound of music...

often overtook the sound of my voice in my family when I was growing up. I found ease in leaning back and listening to the music, especially at the times I did not have words for the complicated feelings I had held. It was easier to find someone who's image captivated me, who's words could hold me when my mother, always in front of me, was still somehow never just here with me.

Why did I learn poetry? Maybe my mother will find me here in a form she can digest, with the distance needed to keep me in focus. Maybe my father will hear how I feel if it could be sung to a wannabe sublime-inspired new age indie band backtracks.

Why does anyone do anything but in the hopes they will be seen by the people they love most- in a way they might actually understand.

There are a million truths to scream into the void of things I wish I could say. One of which is most important to me enough that I will not throw it out for later, I will stitch it together here.

None of my love has ever been wasted, but it has been misunderstood, misheld, mishandled, and lost in transit like anyone else.

I have learned poetry so that I may speak in two ways- thoughtfully, and beautifully. These are aims I have failed at enough that I must try to artfully pursue.

It is up to me to be understood. It has always been up to me to find what I need. These are not withholdings the people I love have inflicted on me, they are moments I felt I had failed to be heard, and everyone takes their turn.

It it up to me to ask for the love I want. It is up to me to make a home OF everything I love FOR everything I love.