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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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.

Love: Wings and Legs

Collete Miller.png

Painted by Collete Miller

Love gives you wings, 
but when the wings are abruptly taken away, 
your legs are yanked off too.

Love, after it is withdrawn,
leaves you somewhat paralyzed.

And so,
first,
you have to grow a new pair of legs-
the process hurts like a “modafocka”.

Then you develop an irrational fear of wings,
which is funny,
but also sad.

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.

Crying Helps

You can cry if you need to, sky;
you can cry if you need to.
I saw your lighting,
and I heard your thunder;
I know you are upset.

I will come out to sing for you,
and dance for you,
stretch my hands to you,
until you stop.
You can shed your tears into my palms.

I won’t hide from you;
you can’t always be strong.
I’ll listen to you,
and say nice words to you;
I won’t go till I see your sun.

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.

Out of Reach

The stars have remained special
because they live in the sky,
far away from our touch.
If they lived in the sand,
we would mistreat them 
and kick them around,
and they would mean nothing to us-
nothing more than mere stones.
We would get too used to them,
and we would not appreciate them.

I should have stayed out of your reach.

Unre-QUIT-ed IX

Love is a Cave:
I am in love,
but I am in it alone,
I am not in love with you,
and it hurts me to the soul
each time you remind me
that I am in love,
but you are not in it with me.

Love is a Butterfly

If you truly love a butterfly,
you ought to let her fly.
She’ll show you her buttery side if you do.
If you open your palm wide enough,
she’ll always perch in it if she wants you.
Don’t break her wings off
because your fears make you want to.
If you squeeze her in,
you would either weaken her
or make her cry,
or make her die,
and at any chance she gets to be free,
she’ll fly far away
and never come back again.