Untitled (for now)

This was written just this afternoon. The first few lines, however, popped into my head yesterday afternoon while driving home. A radio piece about the remembrance of the Rwandan genocide came on the air and got me thinking about love and loss – a woman who lost seventy members of her family spoke about how she no longer had anyone left to hold on to. That was the initial motivator, but Rwanda ultimately did not end up becoming the subject of the poem.

My hands are empty
but my chest is full.
So I say I can’t carry it
when the seams are stretched so thin
as it is.
Now it’s breaking open.

How can you hold all the love inside your own heart?
You have no choice but to let it go,
Let all the love you have flow
out into the world
and soak
every dry piece of dust it touches.

Let it wash over

Maybe that’s why it hurts to love others
than yourself;
we try too hard to keep all
of ourselves
to ourselves.
Your heart has to spill a little to try & fill another.

Giving blood isn’t a painless thing,
but it’s a gift of life worth giving.
Gifting ourselves to each other.


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