Let's Become Mythic Bodies

what if it's not a metaphor?

Stop swimming.
Sink into the ocean.

Some days you are frozen 
no matter the breathing and dancing
and fingers through inviting places.
Some days you wish it was easier 
or that you never went out of rhythm
traveling with no destination. 

Where are you going? 
You want to trust this ground shaking.

When you’re bracing for something you can’t see, 
has it occurred to you that maybe, it’s me? 
The goddess felt in the throne of your body?
Have you stopped to notice how sweet it is 
in the middle of the madness? 

Have you? 

Have you stopped to breathe lately? 
Have you let the warmth permeate your frozen limbs? 
Have you let soft tears roll down your neck
leaving trails of salt and magic? 
Have you noticed when I write about you 
what happens in your chest cavity? 
Have you noticed your wings growing?
Or your last seven lives gone by in an instant? 
Have you felt the phoenix rising from the ashes of your chaos? 
Have you loved me through all of it? 

Sometimes you love me so quietly 
I wonder about everything. Some days
you put me in checkmate and
I’d just as soon behead the whole army.
Some days you won’t fly with me
and it drives me crazy. 
The ground is tiring. 
Let’s take flight. Become 
a murmuration of starlings
alive with a greater knowing. 
Let’s become mythic bodies,
heaven sent, hell risen,
boundaries burning.
Let’s become too much
for our own skin. 

I don’t believe in metaphor or coincidence.
It’s all real, these words, these threads of 
invisible web, everywhere illuminated.
Here it is, luminous breath, 
the goddess falling and rising again. 

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