We try to run from our own fatality of which
eclipses us in that same
painstaking way endurance does.
Attempting to escape from a freedom that
beckons never fully into anywhere besides
where the heart is straining oh so eagerly
to go.
I have been waiting here, in my waiting space,
a field resting exhausted between choice
making and command obeying.
Stifling me, like poetry.
I will see you between my own decision and
the desire that begs me to kneel before its feet.
It looks a lot like you,
Whispering,
Come back home to me.
And here I am.
Waiting.
You see I look at you and my lungs hurt.
I'm breathing in too much of what I can't have.
Toxic.
To crave is simply to love something
and maybe desire as much
in return.
Or was that defiance?
Even so, the error remains,
Continuous as a wooden spear through the bloody
flesh of my torso:
Why did you do that thing that you did to all the best
parts of me?
Why am I struggling to re-discover myself?
Discover. A word used to describe finding something
that was unfound.
I suppose it's the right word after all.
Its decent enough knowledge that if you breathe in
all the wrong gasses you will find yourself in a sleep
deep enough to get lost in.
Can someone be lost without anyone missing them?
You redefine the meaning of longing,
of waiting in a place so close to non-existence
that it hurts in all the most sensitive places.
I wish you could know that you can let your guard down,
strip your dominance from the arteries of being
and that I could be strong enough to carry us both.
But honey there is a need for salvaging
somewhere in this mess of whose fingers
belong to who and
why is there someone else's heart beating
in the place mine is in?
I'm an apology passed between damaging people
with little known defects in oppression somewhere
in the spaces between their ligaments.
I am constantly aware of just how my posture is a
non-existent island in this ocean of vulnerability
that I try not to baptise myself in.
Sometimes I see life boats over the horizon and
I think so earnestly of you.
Then I drown again,
because echoes of you fill my organs with stones
unforgiving in the act of floating.
Fortify yourself darling.
False self-submission looks a lot like love when you
need it too.
Discover does not describe you.
I never found you, I never had you.
Fracture.
Or is that me?
YOU ARE READING
Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.
Poesía"I hope it gives you the same satisfaction as finishing a really good book, Or kissing someone, and not walk away feeling like they have taken something from you."
