Post the Forty-Sixth or Explosions

It’s like a fish hook

Caught on my heart

The dancing rhythm in my chest

Matching

The constant tug of the

Angler

AKA the Universe

And it fucking hurts

Day

And, particularly, at night

When the empty plane of my bed

Reminds me of his body against mine

Of the space that is now there

Where once it was filled with peaks of heartbreaking beauty

And valleys of staggering grace

Grace that I was privy too

Beauty that I couldn’t believe I could witness

And live

So that tugging,

Which drives me to such desperation,

Catapults me into such soaring heights.

There are moments, many many moments,

Donde mi corazón

se siente como que va a

explotar

Into a thousand tiny doves.

Or perhaps a million little dandelions

Their seeds scattering to the four winds

And taking root in the other parts of my being.

Only to return again

Back to the center

To rest on that Angler’s hook

Saying,

“This is home.”

I can’t believe I left.

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About witchymorgan

I'm a 22 year old womanist, sex positive, pansexual, polyamorous, queer, bruja, transwoman. Social justice activist by day, social justice activist by night. Fun! View all posts by witchymorgan

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