Broccoli Seeds

No longer do I want to choose lovers
based on the fantasy of healing them
or of them healing me

I want someone
with whom I can walk side by side,
providing each other company
while we both heal ourselves

No longer do I want the sugar high
of consuming each other like candy

I want the difficulty and fulfillment
of nourishing each other like broccoli seeds

*I borrowed the broccoli seed metaphor from Gesturing Toward Decolonial Futures’ “Broccoli Seed Agreement.” Please check out their work! They’re amazing!

Part of the Family

I finally see the mean inner voices for what they are:
part of the family.
I’m never going to eradicate them.
and depression
will always be in the car
in the road trip of my life–
a month from now,
a year from now,
ten years from now.
And that’s okay.
They can be here–
as long as they know their place.
They sit in the back.
They sit shotgun.
They are not the driver.
I repeat:
They are not the driver.

*Credit where credit is due: this poem is a paraphrase of a part of Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert.*