Made to be

“You can’t be mad at a stone, for being a stone!” I laughed.

While you sat there, frowning

Because it wasn’t the right hue

You didn’t understand the fissures

The clarity wasn’t true.

But while I spoke those words to you

I spoke them to myself, too.

You can’t blame the wind for blowing

The rain for its wetness

The flame for her heat.

I cannot blame my body for being a body

I cannot blame my mind for where she wanders

I cannot blame a thing

For being truly

And unequivocally

That which it was made to be.

Breathe

Dark and soft and deep

Your hugs are an ancient hardwood forest.

They consume me.

Surround me.

Soothe me.

Dark and soft and deep

Your arms fold me into you

And you inahle

I inhale

We exhale.

Dark and soft and deep

That is where our souls meet.

Where were you?

“Where have you been all of my life?”

“Getting ready for you.”

His words remind me

That without each step

Without the rainy days

Or sun filled days

I would not be me

Nor would he.

Our edges were ground down

We were broken repeatedly

So that we fit together

Him

And me

Perfectly.

Whatever you’d like

You can call me whatever you’d like

“Babe”

“Honey”

I’ll even accept some “sugar pie”

Just as long as when you say it

You have that sparkle in your eye.

Healers

Let me tell you something.

Healers? They never get the glory. No songs are sung about them. No great victories give tribute to them.

Darling, you could stitch up the wounds of a nation, and they would laude the needle maybe….or perhaps the thread. But not the delicate mortal hands that can keep the living from the dead.

You can nurse the injured, sick, and poor. Heal every downtrodden plant…animal…or person…who casts a shadow at your door. You could give of yourself until there is little…or nothing more.

But healers never get the glory. Though you are needed now more than ever before.