formless nests

are forming
all the time
from barren
grasses
plucked
through
the eyes
that fly
overhead
saying
this one will do nicely
and shoving it
into
the nest
of comfort
that brings
forth
the future
of
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

could it be enough

could it be enough
that i know the power of the poetry
or is it that i must speak it, too
is it that i must stand and deliver
the silent words voiced and uttered
is that what can release me?
from me?
do i hate myself so much to keep
the truth from even me?
the mess of insecurity
spilling out in false bravado
the weight of all that's carried forward
into now.
what is it i bring with me?
all these bags of someday
wandering willingly through the
bump and grind of what is here with me
needing to be healed
will i carry it from this now?
or leave it finally in this moment?
when will i bury my dead?
and let them rest--a piece of the peace
they have become
if only i will stop resurrecting
my need to hear their voices,
feel their arms around me
reassuring me of my goodness
and right ot be here in this
womb.
when is it my arrival in this
world could be accepted--
by myself--by my soul--
as enough--
permission
to live.