he spoke of his favorite philosophers. none of them spoke of love. i can only conclude: they didn’t know a damn thing
Tag: poems
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suffering breaks the silence, it does, it does. my mind’s gone quiet, there’s a quietness in stability. what do you do when all you’ve known your entire life is the sound of suffering?
i went to therapy and stopped having things to talk about. i opened my notebook, i had plenty to write about, little to whine about.
but the suffering, it changes its tone, living alone. i know i can feel still, books move me to tears. i can be moved, i can feel. but there is a quietness, it’s all so quiet.
i relish it, this silence is the sweetest sound.
stability is the strangest feeling after having known turbulent seas for so long— like hopping off a boat after the most treacherous of journeys. you can still feel the rocking of the ocean, even here, on solid ground. a phantom of the past.
but that’s all the past is, now: a ghost. i remember when i cried, night and day, for what i have now.
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i think i’m done pretending. i thought i’d make it— i haven’t. why fake it?
this “confidence” is a shell. i’ve known love that’s pierced its veil.
what if i could let myself be loved as a human? what then? what if i could be a flawed human and bare it all: honest. myself.
what if i surrendered not just all that i am, but all that im not?
what then? what if i surrendered all i wished i was?
what might that be like? do i know how to love myself in that way, to love another in that way?
i think i’m done pretending. with that mask, you try to attract another. little did you know: you repelled what was honest.
no, opposites do not attract. you will not attract something true with pretty little lies. peel off that mask: your true face. there is a beholder who will see beauty.
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the aftermath of a shooting star—that is what you are. a star falls from the heavens, celestial light gracing mankind. here am i, a mere mortal, walking with an angel. how lucky am i, to have your hand in mine. what higher fortune have i to thank? i know not, for you are my lucky star.
you are what happens when ether fuses with clay, when the heavens fuse with the earth.
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you were shaped
like God
took his time with you—
the hidden hand
of the sculptor
carved you with intent,
like it relished
the shaping
of your lips,
the slope
of your hips.
but,
if this art
was by accident,
like
the splattered canvas
of a sunset,
then I’ll call
sheer randomness
my God,
and my savior—
for you are myth,
you’re poetry,
you’re music,
you are all things
divine.
who makes miracles?
I can’t say—
but, as far as they go,
you are mine.
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putting words to our love,
the gravest insult:
like caging an eagle.
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your eyes could make a romantic out of a cynic
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i hadn’t known
an answered prayer
could fit in my arms
until i held you.
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we sit at the freeway’s edge.
you tell me,
“pretend the cars
are shooting stars.”
but here you are:
in my arms.
I have my wish.
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a love most tender. god, let me love you.
what a gift it is to give love. what a gift it is to get to love. to be there for you on your roughest days. to be the one you trust. to make you feel better. to make you food, hold you, comfort you. to be the one you turn to.
god, what a gift: to be someone’s refuge.
i want to be that one for you. i want to be the one you can put the wall down around. god, more than receiving love, i think it’s getting to give love to someone. to see that trust, to see you soften at my touch. to be your safety.
god, what a gift.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 