She Dreams of Life

My Religion.

I write letters to the dead.

Pass by cemetery's

Whispering, "I am sorry."

To all of the lost souls

Listening.

And I kiss the air

As it brushes against my lips

Playing the violin

In my hair,

Entangling it

In dozens of tiny love knots.

I like to think

That the wind

Is carrying lost souls to

Safety,

Where they will finally find peace.

I kiss them on the foreheads

For good luck.

I don't know

Much

About luck,

But, the red

Blossoming

Like the flowers in my garden

During spring

From where

I scratched my leg raw

Reminds me that I do know pain.

I don't know

Death

That well,

But I hope that

Down the line

That Death will be soft.

Gently wrapping me in arms

Cloaked in warmth,

Telling me that I have lived

A full life.

My religion

Does not call for death.

It does not call for anything but

An open mind.

My religion

Requires

A heart and strength

And a jacket.

A jacket

That you can wrap around you

When the sting of the wind

Blinds you.

A jacket

That is warm

To help fight off the cold

Brushes of the fingers

Of the words

That only cause you pain.

When

I was only eleven

I had a jacket

That I would wrap around myself.

It smelled like Oregon rain

And comfort

From the eyes

Glaring down at me

From the swing-set

Marking me as different.

I have been religiously persecuted

For living a religion

That is of my own.

That I have crafted from my mother's

Words

To fit into my own soul.

My religion

Is not shunning

The Bible,

Or praising the Lord.

My religion

Is not purely love,

Or intelligence.

My religion

Is knowing

That we are different.

Of recognizing that

Sometimes we love

Too much

And love what others think

Is not right.

My religion

Is not seeing a man and a woman

But seeing two beings

With the same glorious opportunities.

My religion

Is not just loving

But accepting.

My religion

Is forgiving

But not forgetting.

My religion

Is kindness

And equality.

Of knowing

That I cannot

Control the inescapable

Hands of fate

That I am not perfect,

That I was designed

To have flaws

And weaknesses,

But that I was also made

With strengths.

My religion

Is being human.

So I pass by cemetery's

Whispering sorry

So someone will mourn the dead.

Because I want them to know

That they are not present

But not unaccounted for.

And,

When I feel like

I am losing myself,

I imagine the wind.

Because

You do not have to be

Dead to be lost,

So I kiss the breezes

As they pass by me.

Locking it in a jar

When it kisses back,

So I can open it

Whenever I need to be

Guided.

Because

What is wrong

Is that you are told wings need to be gained.

What is wrong

Is that you are thrust off a cave,

Told to just believe and it will work.

You shouldn't have to fall to learn.

Because,

There are some scars that just shouldn't be earned.

Because,

There are some things that just shouldn't be learned:

And falling

is one.