146.

flitting birdlike through my memories, gathering

little bits of broken shell and soil between my knuckles as I go

to build a nest

there are so many things I have learned, so many things

I have yet to learn, and I will make a house of them

I will be indiscriminate

weave and sew the slivers of self-doubt

with shame and brash confidence alike, like slender twigs

padding with fluff from old lovers' mattresses

I have been made of so many things

over these years, 

stained glass and skinned knees and everything in between

and I am patchwork quilt beautiful

with sticks and stones sticking out at the seams, all the things

people have thrown at me, all the things I have swallowed

I will make my home amid my feathered hopes

and oiled fears, and I am not pitting myself 

against myself today. 

there are too many pretty things

in my lacy framework, in this tiny cathedral I have built
there are too many berries and too many thorns

too many storm clouds and sun showers

I don't want to pluck anything out

of myself. I want to keep

all of it.