Lizzie is one out of 39 pups living at the Sanctuary. She needs love, medicinal kibble, and pills for her pancreas, every day. As do all her pack mates. You can be a part of their care by donating or sharing this to your animal loving friends. Your help means the world to us!
I know your body
as my own extension
connected
by transitions
each time
we undress the night
a tidal wave
of fragile strength
when graceful curves
stretch toward shadow
light traces set a-quiver
where sacred
and sensitive flow
their story
your lips upon mine glow
longing
i do not know what i am hunting.
that would make this easier.
a name.
a face.
a place on a map.
instead it arrives as an ache.
a restlessness.
a feeling that there is something
just beyond the next hill,
the next city,
the next conversation,
the next pair of eyes.
i stalk it anyway.
i wake up and catch its scent.
it drags me from bed.
puts miles on my shoes.
hours on the road.
words on the page.
sometimes i think it is love.
sometimes purpose.
sometimes a version of myself
that never learned to sit still.
but every time i get close enough
to call it something,
it slips into the trees again.
and i follow.
because i have begun to suspect
the longing was never for the thing.
the longing was the thing.
the hunt rises up inside me
looking for prey.
and if i ever catch it,
if i ever hold it in my hands
and know with certainty
this is what i was after,
i am not sure what survives.
me,
or the hunger.
inception.
many times
i have mistaken longing
for recognition.
a woman laughs softly,
touches my arm once,
looks at me like she’s listening
and suddenly
i am twenty years into a future
that never existed.
i have called things fate
because i wanted them quickly.
called them familiar
because desire sounds less desperate
with poetry wrapped around it.
the dance always felt ancient to me.
like we had found each other again.
but maybe that is just what lonely people do.
they press meaning into moments
too small to carry it.
you were real.
that was the tragedy.
or maybe that’s all chemistry is.
two lonely people
rushing the meaning
so the silence
doesn’t catch them first.
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That’s it ❤️
If you want to thank a veteran this memorial day, don't thank us for our service. That's trite. Not one service member feels gratitude from your words. Don't make us stand up at work, or single us out on fucking conference calls. Thank us by voting better human beings into office. The kind of people who push for the version of America we fought for, for the people we fought for. Vote for the kind of people who protect the services veterans use. The ones who defend and fund programs for mental health, for medical care, for integrating returning troops.
Cause that isnt fucking Trump, and it isn't fucking billionaires, and both of those have managed to fuck over all of us while you graciously thank me and then forget we exist.
I don’t think there are good people
or bad people.
just people
with the capacity to act.
some actions heal.
some actions break things.
and after enough of either
we stop judging the acts
and turn the person
into the pattern.
that’s all morality usually is:
memory
with a verdict attached.