Chiron-ke

Yusuf Grillo

Painted by Yusuf Grillo

I want love.
I ask for love,
but when Mother Earth offers it to me,
I shake my head from side to side.

You may think of me as a child,
and you may think of me as a pregnant lady,
but I see myself as pregnant,
not as a child who does not
know what they are doing.

I am in pain.
I am pregnant.
I bear and carry my hurt
like an unborn child
in my heart’s womb.

No one can deliver this child;
no one except me.
No one but me
can deliver my self,
but I don’t know how to,
or is it that I don’t want to?

I can’t.  

I’m a pregnant midwife
who delivers people’s pain-children
but walks around with her own
still-born still in her.

No one but me
can deliver my self,
but I don’t know how,
or is it that I don’t want to?

I can’t. 

You may think of me as a child,
and you may think of me as a pregnant lady,
but I’d prefer it if you
do not think of me at all.

 

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Love and Life

Little-Yachtsman

“Little Yachtsman” by Amanda Jackson

He cannot be the love of your life
if what he has is the love of your life,
not the love of you.
He praises you because you have this,
and you can do that,
but those things removed,
he wouldn’t know what to do with you;
you would have no use to him.

Stages of Life

Arodan Image

Things do not end
because they weren’t meant to be,
but because they were.
Predestined,
planned,
timed,
like a stage play,
to be seen,
to be experienced,
to be felt,
to be learnt from.

As soon as the play is done,
and the end begins,
actors should take front-row seats
and watch their own work-
what they could have done better,
what they should do and not do
in the next play,
as opposed to regretting
that they took part in it
in the first place,
as awkward as it may seem,
as much as it may hurt.

You Make Wings Fly

Freedom

“Freedom” by Tabetha Landt

Wings don’t make you fly;
they’re useless without the mind.
Wings need you to fly.
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JHR

Freedomination

Birdy

“The Heart of a Bird” by Colette Wirz Nauke

In your quest for freedom,
if you must fill your wings with anything,
or decorate your wings,
decorate them with feathers,
not gold.

With gold, other birds will stop by,
and admire your beauty,
and aspire to be like you,
and worship the ground beneath your feet.

The day of the storm will come,
the day of the storm is coming,
and on that day,
with extra feathers,
you will fly very quickly to safety.

The day of the storm will come,
the day of the storm is coming,
and on that day,
with golden, swollen wings,
your worshippers will leave you,
the rain will catch up with you,
and beat you till you can barely breathe.

Birds That Don’t Fly

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Why do certain birds have wings
and do not fly,
and when they do,
they don’t do so very high?

I don’t know.

Why do some animals have mouths
and do not speak,
and when they “do”,
all you get is a tiny, little squeak?

I don’t know.

Why does a woman have a womb
if she does not birth,
if she doesn’t attempt to,
if it’s not attached to her sense of worth?

I don’t know.

All I know, is that some birds do not fly,
because they don’t have to;
they don’t find food in the sky.
Many animals do not talk;
nothing has to be said,
to learn from a hawk. 

And lastly, now firstly, the woman.

Some women do not birth
because it’s not why they are on earth.
It doesn’t come up in their thoughts of romance;
wombman isn’t just child-maker, by any chance.


So, there are several children in the world who are suffering because their mothers are either late, or they were abandoned immediately after birth. That a child has a present mother isn’t even enough proof that they don’t suffer as a result of her horrible parenting approach. Some women gave birth because they were pushed to think that they just had to, and since, deep down, they never wanted to, the end results turned out to be horrible, almost catastrophic.

If you are so concerned about children, if they really mean so much to you, and that’s your motivating factor, why are you pressuring this one woman who doesn’t want to give birth (and not necessarily because she can’t), instead of worrying about the ones that the earth already has, that are dying constantly, due to inadequate care.

There are at least two approaches that people have to seeing a bird that is not flying. They think- well, she’s either in a cage, or she doesn’t know how to. Why don’t we go out of our way to teach her, and if she still doesn’t fly, we throw her in the air anyway, so she can break her leg. Better still, we cage her. Why should a bird just be on her feet, not flapping her wings, not singing, if she’s truly free?

Therefore, sir, ma, to whom this may concern, how can we best support you, so you can aspire to (at least) be sensible in the nearest future?

Bitter-Sweet

How can a yang be a yin?
How?
How can a thing that ought to heal, hurt?
How can a thing that ought to help you walk,
and better still,
give you wings,
keep you in chains,
and make you weak?
How?
How can a thing that ought to give you life
take your breath?
How can a feeling
be the opposite of itself,
when unrequited?
A thing so sweet and tender,
like a newborn baby,
but strong enough
to put you in a chokehold
when you least expect it?

Love, delicate and dangerous.

My Only Regret

a_bird_in_a_cage_by_sebowebo-d5esu3r

The only regret that I have
is having regrets-
regretting things that I had
not even attempted yet,
hating myself for making mistakes,
for not being able to change
the things that I couldn’t,
thinking that things end because
they should never have been,
killing myself for wanting to live.

En dehors de ce regret,
je ne regrette rien.

Venus in “Deadtrograde”

A plate of pain keeps
the potential heartbreaker away.
Two glasses of my old tears daily
will help me not go astray.
I am strong and I need no one’s attention,
but I want to be desired,
and I want affection,
but I was hurt,
I don’t want a repetition,
but I want love,
and I can feel the tension.

I don’t cry.
I don’t cry anymore because
there’s a pool of my tears
in my heart,
and I like to swim in it,
or go down, down, down,
and drown,
when a potential One
comes too close
to my feelings’ flat.
If anyone is to decide when I drown,
it has to be me, myself and I.
Would you give another potential
pretentious,
manipulative
dingbat
a chance to decide when you die?

Six planets are in retrograde
in my natal chart,
and venus used to be one of them,
but she’s not anymore.
My venus is dead;
a man has stabbed my sickly venus to death.

The Passover

He looked like every other angel of birth,
but he was an angel of death,
He looked like every other angel of berth,
but he was an angel of dearth.
He would make you moan in pleasure
so he could make you groan in pain.
I had been warned by his ex-prey,
and I was prepared to drive him insane.
I sprinkled the blood of his victims
on my door,
and in my eyes,
and in my ears,
and on my lips,
and on his head.
“You can’t kill me like you did them.
You have tried in vain, lame.”
He passed right over me,
and he never called me again.