A Manifesto, a confession

I have to write a poem about you.

How you’ve become my favorite thing

How you’re not afraid to be sad,

Lonely,

Grieving,

Beautiful.

This is God,

This is love,

This is practice,

And this is suffering,

Over and over and over again.

The parts where I am hurting,

And the parts where I am in love,

This is that.

I’m selfish, too proud of where I’ve come from,

And probably boring the piss out of people with all the horses.

Regardless how you make others feel,

You feel like home,

You feel like you know yourself,

You especially feel like you put up with the rainy days.

I see God here,

In the ways that I am not responsible for my talent,

But merely a vessel of communication.

In the way that love excites me but is rarely looking at me.

In the way that I cry, having full faith that everything is okay.

You’re getting sad…

Perhaps I just care

A lot.

About this terrifyingly beautiful life,

About the horses that have loved me,

About the broken familial relationships,

About myself,

About making art that feels spiritual,

About forgetting the audience,

About doing this for myself because who else is going to tell my story and bask in the “horse girl” of it all?

YOU are the embrace,

The dancing,

And the prayer.

You captivate me,

You strike me as wonderful.

How could anything be real if the composer isn’t being honest with themselves?

I could write about how full my heart is,

How this poem is everything and nothing like you.

For now,

I love you; you make me feel things

And that is always something I am in search of.