you are a horse running alone and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do, love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.
– Warsan Shire
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
their bad advice – – –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations – – –
though their melancholy
was terrible. It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do – – – determined to save
the only life you could save.
Touch me in the space between,
each rib cage where I believe
my soul resides,
I’d like to know that you can feel her.
Touch me on the nape of my neck,
where I carry the weight of the world,
and let me know if you might
be willing to share some of this heaviness.
Touch me in the invisible places
that I hold my hurt
and remind me to pay attention
to them—the last thing they need is neglect.
Touch me in the moonlight
where I often hide,
but long to know that someone still sees me.
Touch me in the sunlight,
where hiding is not an option
and all my imperfections are illuminated,
and show me you don’t mind
them one bit.
Touch me in the place that moves me,
which will in turn move you,
so we can move together
in a way that only two people
who have touched each other can.
Touch me with your words
or with your heart
or with your fingertips,
touch me there
or even right over here,
I’m really not too picky.
I’d just like for you to touch me,
and gently remind me
that I am real. ~emily bartran
As I began to love myself I found that anguish and emotional sufferingare only warning signs that I was living against my own truth.
Today, I know, this is “AUTHENTICITY”.
As I began to love myself I understood how much it can offend somebody
As I try to force my desires on this person, even though I knew the time
was not right and the person was not ready for it, and even though this
person was me. Today I call it “RESPECT”.
As I began to love myself I stopped craving for a different life,
and I could see that everything that surrounded me was inviting me to grow.
Today I call it “MATURITY”.
As I began to love myself I understood that at any circumstance,
I am in the right place at the right time, and everything happens
at the exactly right moment. So I could be calm.
Today I call it “SELF-CONFIDENCE”.
As I began to love myself I quit steeling my own time,
and I stopped designing huge projects for the future.
Today, I only do what brings me joy and happiness, things I love to do
and that make my heart cheer, and I do them in my own way and in
my own rhythm. Today I call it “SIMPLICITY”.
As I began to love myself I freed myself of anything that is no good for
my health – food, people, things, situations, and everything that drew
me down and away from myself. At first I called this attitude
a healthy egoism. Today I know it is “LOVE OF ONESELF”.
As I began to love myself I quit trying to always be right, and ever since
I was wrong less of the time. Today I discovered that is “MODESTY”.
As I began to love myself I refused to go on living in the past and worry
about the future. Now, I only live for the moment, where EVERYTHING
is happening. Today I live each day, day by day, and I call it “FULFILLMENT”.
As I began to love myself I recognized that my mind can disturb me
and it can make me sick. But As I connected it to my heart, my
mind became a valuable ally. Today I call this
connection “WISDOM OF THE HEART”.
We no longer need to fear arguments, confrontations or any kind of problems
with ourselves or others. Even stars collide, and out of their crashing
new worlds are born.Today I know THAT IS “LIFE”!
I am not here to entertain you
I am not here to fix you
I am not hear to rescue, heal or revive you
I am not here to be talked at
I am not here to give you all my energy
I am not here to make your story my own
I am not here to just listen
I am not here to make you whole
I am not here to make you happy
I am not here to make it all dissipate
I am not here to distract you from the tedious and mundane
I am not here to mask your sadness and feed your insecure heart
I am not here to hold your hand
I am not here to be a band aid
I am not here to give you all of me
I am here to love you strongly
I am here to love you equally
I am here to be an addition to the joy you already have
I am here to rest in, but not collapse into
I am here to support you, hear you, see you
I am here to make love to you
I am here to love you sweetly and gently and ferociously
I am here to make stories with you
I am here to challenge you
I am here to grow beside you
The time will comewhen, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life
~Poet, Derek Walcott
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
~Oriah Mountain Dreamer
There are moments in this life when you cant fake it. There’s no surviving on wit. You must come legit. Legit you must come with the masochist to whom you cater. You cannot be less, only greater. There’s only now. There is no later. So put on your waders.
Lets wade in the future since the present is stained. Lets break the chains. Lets leave the strain. Lets say our prayers. Lets look forward to a new day. Let the possibile play.
I did not write this, but needed to share it.
“Never say the words ‘this is not my life’
This pain that wakes you screaming in the muzzle of the night
That woke your lover, chased into another room
into another life
This fevered fainting
This trembling chest
This panic like a cave of bats
This nurse drawing blood wearing doubled gloves
This insurance doesn’t cover that
This hurried paycheck of doctor after doctor after doctor
This stethoscope that never hears your heart
This hospital bed
This florescent dark
This save your prescription with side effects worse than the disease
This please let me have one month where I read more poems than warning labels
This not knowing what the test will say
This pray pray pray
This airplane’s medical emergency landing
Shame when you can’t walk
Shame when you’re home alone sobbing on another friday night
Say ‘This is my life
This is my precious life
This is how badly I want to live’
Say Sometimes you have to keep pulling yourself up by the whip
Take punch after punch to the face forward
To the head up
And still uncurl the fist of your grief like a warm blanket on the cool earth of your faith
Say every waiting room is the clime where you will finally take shape to fit into the keyhole of your own gritty heart
To open mercy
To open your siren throat
Say every fever is a love note to remind you that there better things to be than cool
Fuck every pair of skinny jeans
From the month your muscles atrophied to a size two
Say fuck you to anyone who asks you if you eat enough
Say how do you not know that is so fucking rude
Remember you never have an obligation to fight the hurricane in your chest
Especially on a day when another healthy person suggests ‘you would feel so much better if you would just focus your breath into a Buddha beam of light
Like that blind is going to miraculously dissolve the knife that’s been churning in your kidneys for the last six fucking months
Say Sunshine, please go back to your job at the aroma therapy aisle at Whole Foods and leave me alone
I know how to help my body
God does not expect me to use my inside voice
God knows how goddamn hard I am working to become a smooth stone
So I can skip on my back across this red red sea
So I can trust deep in my screaming bones
Everything is a lesson
Lesson #1 through infinity
You will never have a greater opportunity to learn to love your enemy than when your enemy is your own red blood
Truce is a word made of velvet
Wear it everywhere you go
Bandage the window where you screamed at the mountain for forgetting your footsteps
Trust that mountain is climbing you
Especially on the days you inevitably want to avalanche everyone who loves you
When you can’t walk from the bed to the bathroom without clenching at the walls
When you can’t imagine you can fall to pieces in another’s sturdy arms and still be seen as whole
Remember, the universe only became the universe when it shattered into dust
And that shattering is the one thing you can always trust enough to tell you
the truth is so quiet
you may never have heard it without a stethoscope pressed to your chest
That is to say in the house of your compassion its possible illness will be the landline
And its how you will begin to hear the world clear as a pin dropping
The downpour of its eyes
The long quarter of its broken throat
On my most broken days
when my faith is a willow and the pain has nothing but an ax to give
The only thing I want more than to die
is to live
Is to live to hear my neighbor play his music obnoxiously loud
To get cut off in traffic fifty more times
To get broken up with while standing in line at the DMV
To have another doctor drive another needle into my skin for the hundredth time
So I can say, for the hundredth time, that needle is the needle on a record player, Doctor, everything and I mean everything can learn how to sing”