Love is a Surprise

Unplanned

Sometimes, you don’t fall in love;
you might be too cautious to.
Sometimes, love falls on you;
unexpectedly, like heavy rain.
It’s destabilizing;
it’s profound.
You can’t climb out of it,
you can’t jump down from it;
you’re free but
you’re stuck in it.
You shiver;
you cry.
There is no shelter;
you can’t make it stop.
💧
You don’t want it to.

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I’m Not a Bloody Playtime Pool

Drown

Painted by Brian Kirhagis

You wanted to be let in,
into the flow of my emotions,
into the depths of my feelings.
Why do you want to leave now?
Oh!
You have your life to live now?

I asked if you could swim
and you said “yes”,
you’d do anything to get in.

Is it too cold for you now?
Is my water too dirty for you,
too contaminated for your soul?
Do your lifeguards want you out now?

Were you looking to find fishes in me,
to feed them and keep them for your use?
Are you disappointed that there are none?
Do you wish that I was more salty?
Have you found a different water?

Why don’t you talk to me?
I don’t want you out of me;
your presence satisfies me.
I am so used to you;
I don’t know what to do.

You can’t just make me trust you
and then mess up.
Cum, tears, sweat, blood, pee;
how do I separate all of you from me?

You see, this is the kind of shit that…
*whew!*
…this is the kind of stuff
that gets motherfuckers drowned.
I’m not a bloody playtime pool.

I’m a sea.

-Yemoja 

Unfuckwithable

She protected her inner world fiercely
like a lioness protecting her cubs.
She wore silence like a cloak,
and liked to cleverly observe.

They tried to take the ‘cloak’ off,
but she politely declined,
and when they tried to rip it off,
she terribly roared.

Death VII: Denial and Delusion

I don’t think Death takes all the lives that it has stolen
around with it;
He would have too much to carry.
I’ll look for where He keeps them
and return yours to you;
we’ve got so much more to do.
I’ll make sure you are not buried
till I hurry back with you.

Can’t anything at all be done to bring you back?

Love and Imperfection

We strive to touch the stars;
we reach for them.
We crave to hold them in our palms
but we often forget that
stars have sharp ends.

When we get pinched,
we doubt that what we have is a star.
“This can’t be it;
this can’t be all I’ve dreamed of.”

So, we release it;
we let it go.
We begin to confuse ourselves.

We tell ourselves that a moon
can make a better star
because it doesn’t look like
it has sharp ends,
but the moon usually ends up being
either too big for us to carry
when it is full,
or sharper than the star
when it has proper blades-
when it is a half-moon or a crescent.

When we get hurt again,
when reality sets in once more,
we move to the sun.
We say-
“the sun looks more stable;
it’s far better than the rest”,
but we usually get burned instead.

We return to the star
in a worse condition
than we would have been
if we had been patient,
if we had stayed with it,
but it may or may not
let us hold it in our palms again.
It may or may not take us back.

So has it been with many things;
so has it been with love.

Wounded Healer III

Goddess of Forests

I’m shedding everyone’s tears
but I can’t shed my own.
I’ve got it all under control in public;
I’m a mess when I’m alone.
Pain has injected itself into me;
I can feel it bite through each bone.
I’m decaying on the inside,
but this body is not mine to disown.

My heart and soul are drowning,
and I can’t stretch my hands
to reach them through my throat.
They’ve absorbed too much;
they’re heavy,
but I can’t save them.
I can’t drain the tears and blood;
I can’t heal them.

So, I’ll shed my tears through my mouth.
I’ll cry with my hands and feet,
with my words,
and with my songs,
and with my dance,
till I feel my heartbeat.
I’ll shed my tears as sweat;
they can’t pass through my eyes just yet.

Dead Love IV

African Woan

She was only married for 5 years,
but she lived with the man
till the day of her death.
First, he was the love of her life,
then he became her man,
then he became her husband,
then he became the father of her children,
then he became the man,
till he was simply a man,
a man that she lived with,
that she had sex with,
that she fed,
that she washed clothes for,
that she went to events with.
A man, and nothing more.

Unre-QUIT-ed VIII

“I don’t feel the same way about you.”
“I don’t feel the same way…”
“I don’t feel the same…”
“I don’t feel…”

There you are!

Feeling all things and everything
so intensely about a person
in the deepest parts of your soul,
losing the strength to be alone,
trying really hard to be whole,
and they “don’t feel” any of it.

Nothing hurts more.

For Writers IV: It Star-ts with You

It all star-ts with you.

It all star-ts when you choose to shine,
when the thing that your heart desires
is what you choose to do.

It all star-ts,
even if the first cheer
that you hear
is a “boo!”.

It all star-ts;
that’s the most important step
that it requires.

Unre-QUIT-ed VII

He never expressed it;
he imprisoned the love he had for me.
Sometimes, it would try to escape
through his mouth,
but he would swallow it again.
At other times,
it would try to escape through his hands,
but he would pull them back.
After a while, he could not
hide it from his eyes;
I could see the love in his eyes.
He would shut them tight and look away,
and when he looked back at me,
I would see the imprisoned love again-
begging for freedom,
asking for help,
screaming my name…