I am the new

fighting demons can be hard. walking up my stairs I am beginning to see that what we want today.. and I as that we, isn’t what I want to define me. fear disrupts the aligning of being and doing. those demons I have, they are failing in their terror.

recovery isn’t exactly for the recovering as it is for those that will witness your recovery. The band plays on, one sinking feeling, one capsized boat, racists in the mess hall, one reversal of intention and we call it survival. we might even call it success. I had to take a minute to think about me. I know they already love me. they are the likeness, those smooth skin angels, eyes black like an oracle. I have seen them in the back streets of my whoredom, witnessing to me. what remarkable eyes… mirroring my dissension. what immaculate love, and she says “ you can’t just pound in me”. divinity in that vulnerability, breathe, pause and find the rhythm again. I am driving through the streets of Vegas wishing I had lost your number. I know I couldn’t be here without once being there. the sensation of truth is smooth like the song of hallelujah.

motherless children are everywhere. children abandoned are my reflection. the sound of aircraft grounding me. dare I ever touch what God has placed as untouchable. reaching behind me, I cannot resist. “you just can’t keep pounding in me” she says. I know no exit. and she can hear herself responding, we hear her…