on my mind

we recently had engagement photos done, and this one shot is taken under a giant oak tree lined with twinkle lights. everything is kinda swirling in motion as we're looking at each other. magic was the first word that came to my head, reminding me of a quote from a poem. a poem that once meant a great deal to me. i wrote it up in my own handwriting, cried over it, poured my soul into those words and that paper and hung that shit up in my new house that he's never visited, on a wall where i saw it every day. those words helped me remember my self worth. helped me pick my shattered, arizona-sized heart up off the ground and mend it back together again. this time stronger, more potent, more open, more genuine. more free. and now, seven years later, my soul and my heart are loved in such a fiercely courageous way that i feel more myself than ever before.


"frida kahlo to marty mcconnell"
by marty mcconnell

leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he's never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don't wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses.
you make him call before
he visits. you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don't lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.