Whenever you are sad

Think of all the miracles that brought you into existence

Luck is a particularly tricky kind of magic.

And there is no space in between anything.

Everything is holy as it flows into itself.

Doormats

When the time to speak up has past we must stay seated,

staring uneasily at one another.

We cannot complain,

we must be happy enough.

It starts with a brushing of a single pair of hands,

though they do not belong to the same one person.

Muttered apologies, averted eyes but something felt so nice.

And soon we are all brushing hands, arms, knees against one another

and slowly we grow less bashful

and soon all our fingers are intertwined.

Leading a life of quiet desperation isn't so bad,

we find ways to be happy enough.

My mind is simply flint and steel

When there is a spark

My body becomes the tinder

Screaming, whispering.

I push the skin on my neck back and forth, the notches on my spine sway with the movement of my left hand.

Here in the dark I feel the pull and strain upon every muscle

The mass of hair upon my head feels different, more distinct

I marvel at the wide assortment of textures

to be found on my skin.

There is a special kind of holiness found in the secrets that our bodies keep from ourselves.