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

Let mayryanna know your thoughts...

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.