Is this a safe place
are you a safe place
for me to set down
the race, the pace,
to unburden?

That’s still challenging to do.
And what about you?
Am I those things too?
Perhaps we could be that for each other.
Except, what exactly am I unburdening?
I think you have depth there
for me to hear.

I always feel that I am solo.
Always need to be prepared,
not to rely on the other.
You are, actually,
the closest to me,
but also, you’re quite far.

You’re away in action.
Or, through inaction.
And I have so much to set.
So I resort to self.
It feels stark,
but,
reliable.

I’d been accumulating stress
Body tense,
flight pending,
erratic heartbeat,
sped up breath.
Transferred this feeling
onto you.
Repeated patterns.
Unresolved issues
building stress
and making my body
and mind, at times,
believe I was back there again.

The pit of my stomach
a low lying hum
churning and heavy,
my body is strung.

Anxious something will happen,
imagined danger arise
my body is ready,
awaits nasty surprise.

Just breathe, little body.
Find a moment, take a breath.
Calamity’s not here today,
you are safe; please de-stress.

The loss of you
is everywhere
The reminders of your love
are too.

The coffee machine, the couch,
the roof and the shelving.
The things you gave, the help you offered.
The pieces of
heart generosity

My home is wrapped in them,
in reminders of you.

So it is done
we’re apart as we feared.
It is over, no more
and I drove us here.

I kept on continuing
along with the doubt
You told me it was trauma
and it would work out.

I loved you, and still do
but not enough
to imagine our future;
overcome this stuff.

And so, we’re trying
Trying to see
Giving it a year
For you and for me.

There are things that I love
And I love to see grow
Then returns that splinter
It won’t seem to go.

Your effort is gravity
It draws me near.
Commitment to trying—
music for heart and for ears.

You tell me my trauma
creates so much fear
creates inner dilemmas,
pulls me into its sphere.

So does this make my soul
Light and carefree?
Where am I trying to fit?
Inside you, inside me?

This pressure feels like panic,
contorting like a pretzel.
Opposing forces
pressing in and demanding.