a trade

How quiet my mind
how clear the silence
like an evergreen twinkling night
when I shut the door to that shouting house
where knowledge and argument and evidence
hold me hostage,
and I walk off into the cool, clear evening
breathe it sharp into my lungs,
feel my head swim in the emptiness of it all,
how good it feels.

You see,
it all comes down to that desire
to be correct, right, good, fair, knowing -
which may sound noble
but I require the ability to be constantly so,
at every moment, if possible.
I only just realized the exhausting
implications of upholding this impossibility.
I am exhausted.

Trying to contain it all,
cradled in my arms like a thing I must protect,
the delicate ice crystals of words that must not offend, 
intentions that must not be misconstrued.
But I can't see straight, I can't think straight
all they do is tell me how I've failed.
This was not a loving house
And it was not built by my hands alone,
yet I alone have chosen to stay.

But I don't have to be subject to this.
I will try something new:
what if the shouts
became chatter
became whispers
became silence.

What if I release the constant scramble of words
that echo and bounce about in my mind?
I could settle my shoulders, my tightly wound arms
dropping the restraints of expectation,
reach instead for
tenderness.

What if I fold myself gently into all I see as good,
care not what the world does, as long as I know
I am wrapping myself in kindness
leaving littles glimmers of it in my wake.

What if I allow you space to
live in the lightest truth you know,
that space in the air 
between the decision to leap and
(I just love love love you
regardless of) where you land.

What if I choose to be walking evidence
of the human experience, all of it
without apology or explanation,
and I let you come to your own conclusions.

What if I talk about flowers
and Jesus
and my children
and what I had for lunch
and the gentle face of a white moth
and how the dusty sunbeams stream through the window
and the deep, jeweled purple of a plum
even if it makes you laugh.

What if I just speak in love -
yes, I'll make this trade:
complaints for love
sarcasm for love
judgment for love
criticism for love.

What if the silence became whispers again,
but whispers of truth, encouragement, loveliness,
every good and perfect thing.
What then?