I'm bad at vulnerability   

I like to tie off places 
Where mess might hide
Might wander in to introduce themself
Until I'm all knots

I'm not

Comfortable
Unravelling. Just travelling
On this tight ship
Sails straining 
Ropes singing
In a steady breeze

I don't want a harbour's hand
Heavy holding me
To bury my head in a storm
Like pirate's treasure.

Counselling

 I do not show up
For no one needs to be embarrassed
For bringing their best at self 

I do not turn up
Life is too loud already
And this room isn't fully sound proofed

I do not arrive
Because we never stop moving
And I don't want to be left behind

I am not present
Lest we miss your past
And never welcome your future through the doorway

I am not professional
For I am an amateur in your jungles
And distance may let the path close 
Before my feet can reach it

I am not listening
For there are too many to-dos and tick boxes
Pouring down your pages

I am not sure
When you bring your waves and currents
I allow myself to be swept into deeper waters 
Than I can stand alone

I am not wrapping up 
This time is not my gift to give
When you've given it already

I am not 

But perhaps we are
Something
In the sharing breath
And space
Of this weary rental office
We are
A kind of us
A meeting and parting
A walking and running
A pausing, releasing, receiving
And that is enough.

 Innerspring
But not safe to drink
Pocketspring
But nowhere to put my weary hands
Memory foam
But all I want is to forget
How to worry
Just a little
Just a lot
Just until
I can tick my clock

Did I buy the wrong matress?

I lie awake in my body
Asleep on my bed

Unpainted
By my shadow
I am swallowed up
In it all

What is so big
That I am small
Oh so small

I think I remember what it was like
To sit by the roadside
Wait in the unknowing
Time ever slowing
Hurrying past as I died

But I didn't
I just find my arms to heavy
My soul to weary
My doubts are clearing
My discomfort
So I can lie down again

Lists

Lists
Get me leaning sideways

How can I 
Hope
When there are boxes to fill
Perhaps this is where emptiness
Is borne

Show Up

 I wish God would 

Show up, 
sometimes. 
Or show me up at least

Because I find the

gap

between incarnations
Just a little
too big

It isn't the tedium 
of ordinary time (Anglican joke)
of the work year (adult joke)
of the unsteady grind of marriage (adult joke)

I like making light of heavy things
How else to save the bruised reed from crushing

And I am bruised
so bruised
and longing
and wondering

how long
before quitting

I wish God would

A little number from 2022

 Everyone fractures
along the lines 
of least existence