I often feel compelled
To do as much as this
Glass picture frame that
Houses
My ever-moving self
Will allow me to do not
Because I feel obligated but
Because I feel true and honest
Joy
When my finger tips graze the
Energy of your toe tips
When our voices mix
Like cream blends into fresh coffee
My joy is not fleeting
Because it has roots
So when my chest caves in,
Instead of speaking my truth,
I am called to rest.