7.09.18

He says that I have been making so many metaphors that I am starting to look like one.
I fall in love with those words, before asking for an example.
“Which metaphor am I becoming?”
And to my dismay, he can’t think of a single example.
It seems I’m always intrigued by the ones that say the right things,
but I’m also a sucker for things in writing:
the details.
Right now I am sitting in my car and wondering to myself:
Do I want someone who thinks of me as art
or
Do I want someone who makes me into art?

-the specifics

4.26.18

In case you were wondering, I finally cleaned the yellow glass lantern off my bathroom floor. I learned to love that metaphor, but not as much as the relief of trashing each broken piece. Today, two similar -yet unique in color- lanterns reside in the same place. They hold light and I’m sure they won’t break anytime soon.

I hope they won’t.

-more than a metaphor // refer to 12.03.17 

12.03.17

For the last few months
lay a yellow glass lantern
broken in the corner of my bathroom.
People seem to throw away glass once it shatters.
Something, once whole,
now far too broken to piece back together-
but we don’t throw away broken people,
…unless we do?
I realize this is a faulty comparison.
What could I do with a lantern
that could no longer fulfill its purpose-
one that could no longer hold
Light?
There isn’t a chance for restoration-
Unlike a human. 
Scratch that metaphor. 
Perhaps
I will look at the glass as a reminder that
Things break.
Whether I decide to keep the glass or toss it,
I cannot bring it back to what it was.
I can see it, I can touch it,
I can let the shards shred my skin if I wish…
Or,
I can recognize what was 
and make room for the next lantern to come.

-I have a problem of making everything into a metaphor.