deni.

Remembering by Rilke

aperfectcommotion:

And you wait. You wait for the one thing
that will change your life,
make it more than it is—
something wonderful, exceptional,
stones awakening, depths opening to you.

In the dusky bookstalls
old books glimmer gold and brown.
You think of lands you journeyed through,
of paintings and a dress once worn
by a woman you never found again.

And suddenly you know: that was enough.
You rise and there appears before you
in all its longings and hesitations
the shape of what you lived.

(Source: mythologyofblue, via libraryland)

the promiscuity’s worn off,

even when i lay in front of you,

clothes torn off,

you long for more than a teenage whore,

lost,

broken,

but wandering,

the frustration pours,

as this heart grows sore,

you long for more than a teenage whore,

you imprison your beautiful mind,

hiding it from the coffee dates,

the dinner chats,

the phone conversations that kept you up too late,

the ones that end with me hating my tongue,

ranting about nothingness,

reassuring your disappointment in humanity,

in me…

you plant your world in a melody,

and that melody is pure,

recognizable,

one that my mother surely must have sung to me

in a childhood dream,

but maybe that melody is above me,

maybe when i try to take it all in at once,

i panic,

i limit myself,

i grow frightened of its beauty,

i become possessed with the idea of staining it,

ruining it

with my simplicity,

i can only think fast enough to

harmonize in thirds,

and you sigh,

typical,

reassuring your disappointment in humanity,

in me…

____________________

how do you convince someone of the joy that their mere existence induces?

how do you convince someone that they are perfectly imperfect?

he has an objection to perfection,

and yet his humility confirms it.

____________________

do not wait for self-realization, my love,

for it will not hit you,

it will not show its face and surprise you,

you will not awaken to a new sunrise

with the innate knowledge of why you are

how you are.

do not wait for the comfort to explain yourself to me,

for you do not need to prove who you are,

i see you,

i see your warmth,

i see your love for those that matter,

and the hope for those that don’t,

i see your protective nature,

and your logic,

your curiosity,

your wonder,

your exhaustion, 

frustration,

i see things that are inexplicable,

unpronounceable,

so i’ll continue to serenade you with love songs

until my voice aches,

i will never write as well as you.

(everything matters,

and yet

none of it does,

i don’t want to lose ourselves

in factual recollections,

repetition,

stories of teatime with princesses,

and our birth places, 

“everything matters”,

and yet

none of it does,)

…..

wander, my love,

wander until you don’t know which way is right,

wander until you can confuse your compass,

and i will be there,

wherever that may be,

holding your hand so tight

that our pulses beat in unison,

and maybe that will fuel the music

that will inspire your bleeding heart, 

you will compose your essence on the ivories,

and i will listen,

i will memorize,

and when the night falls,

and you’re worn and wounded,

when you can’t recall the sound of your spirit,

i will sing it back to you,

and you will remember.

blue blanket

Blue Blanket (written by Andrea Gibson)

still

there are days

when there is no way

not even a chance

that i’d dare for even a second
glance at the reflection of my body in the mirror
and she knows why

like i know why
she
only cries
when she feels like she’s about to lose control

she knows how much control is worth
knows what a woman can lose
when her power to move

is taken away

by a grip so thick with hate
it could clip the wings of god
leave the next eight generations of your blood shaking

and tonight something inside me is breaking

my heart beating so deep beneath the sheets of her pain
i could give every tear she’s crying
a year—-a name
and a face i’d forever erase from her mind if i could
just like she would
for me

or you

but how much closer to free would any of us be
if even a few of us forgot
what too many women in this world cannot
and i’m thinking

what the hell would you tell your daughter

your someday daughter
when you’d have to hold her beautiful face
to the beat up face of this place
that hasn’t learned the meaning of

stop

what would you tell your daughter
of the womb raped empty
the eyes swollen shut
the gut too frightened to hold food
the thousands upon thousands of bodies used and abused

it was seven minutes of the worst kind of hell
seven

and she stopped believing in heaven
distrust became her law
fear her bible
the only chance of survival

don’t trust any of them

bolt the doors to your home
iron gate your windows
walking to your car alone
get the keys in the lock
please please please please open
like already you can feel
that five fingered noose around your neck
two hundred pounds of hatred
digging graves into the sacred soil of your flesh

please please please please open
already you’re choking for your breath

listening for the broken record of the defense
answer the question
answer the question
answer the question miss 

why am i on trial for this

would you talk to your daughter
your sister your mother like this
i am generations of daughters sisters mothers
our bodies battlefields
war grounds
beneath the weapons of your brother’s hands

do you know they’ve found land mines
in broken women’s souls
black holes in the parts of their hearts
that once sang symphonies of creation
bright as the light on infinity’s halo

she says
i remember the way love
used to glow like glitter on my skin
before he made his way in
now every touch feels like a sin
that could crucify medusa kali oshun mary
bury me in a blue blanket
so their god doesn’t know i’m a girl
cut off my curls
i want peace when i’m dead

her friend knocks at the door
it’s been three weeks
don’t you think it’s time you got out of bed

no

the ceiling fan still feels like his breath
i think i need just a couple more days of rest

please

bruises on her knees from praying to forget
she’s heard stories of vietnam vets
who can still feel the tingling of their amputated limbs
she’s wondering how many women are walking around this world
feeling the tingling of their amputated wings
remembering what it was to fly to sing

tonight she’s not wondering
what she would tell her daughter

she knows what she would tell her daughter
she’d ask her
what gods do you believe in
i’ll build you a temple of mirrors so you can see them,

pick the brightest star you’ve ever wished on
i’ll show you the light in you
that made that wish come true,

tonight she’s not asking
you what you would tell your daughter
she’s life deep in the hell—-the slaughter
has already died a thousand deaths with every unsteady breath
a thousand graves in every pore of her flesh
and she knows the war’s not over
knows there’s bleeding to come
knows she’s far from the only woman or girl
trusting this world no more than the hands
trust rusted barbed wire

she was whole before that night
believed in heaven before that night
and she’s not the only one

she knows she won’t be the only one
she’s not asking what you’re gonna tell your daughter
she asking what you’re gonna teach

your son