Wish there was another label
beside I and me and myself
Something to call this thisness
like void or empty or anything
•
So terribly open, gaping wide
and still pulling at it ever more
Hiding and pacing and waiting
this all feels too fucking familiar
•
All and every abomination mine
each morsel of filth my litter
Collapsing in and condensing
suffocating, ever building pressure
•
Buried indeed, here with sins
conception boldly daring to defy
Yet a still, small hope glimmers
even deeper and further inside
•
Light of hope’s bright tremors
a quaking from within the All
Releasing once again with life
from possibilities of nothings
•
Death and decay not hindering
the propelling new growth’s glory
Out of the muddy wretchedness
springs forth virgin pure and holy
•
How could we not mourn our loss
without also celebrating our gains
For with each spiral going higher
we also must root down deeper in
•
So yes, if “I” must, I cry for this
for the million creatures dying
I mourn those of violent death
that love was ever made a crime
•
I rage against the senseless pain
I wail for lack of self-compassion
For though you may be calling “me”
it is We with whom I am passioned
