Perhaps, there is, maybe,
a biological malfunction in me,
instead of a mouth singing
to the tune of bell-voiced hymns
the language of my soul speaks
not with dust-tongued shrieks
but with the dancing lettered-runes
under a smiling owl-light moon,
tiptoeing from my scarlet muscle-cave
flowing, twirling with each brainwave
until they reach the tip of my waiting fingers
where they will be freed, and on earth, they will linger,
across the ringed-sea, they will float,
until I am onboard my only heaven-bound boat.
©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo by MItodru Ghosh on Unsplash
Words are the gifts I have always wanted for myself.
They are my bars of chocolates,
my calorie-free slices of cheesecake.
My words is the gift I can give to the world.
Carefully wrapped in thin papers of prayer —
stamped with a wish that they reach
the soul who needed them
even after my own gift
©2019 R C. Gonzales | A Reading Writer.
All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Our prompt for the day (optional, as always) is also inspired by McKibbens, who posted these thoughtson her Twitter account a few months back:
What do you deserve? Name it. All of it. What are you ready to let go of? Name that too. Then name the most gentle gift for yourself. Name the brightest song your body’s ever held. Summon joy like you would a child; call it home. It wanders, yes. But it’s still yours.
Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else?