There was grief in the last time I was myself
long-faced, retroussé nose, thick hair
broad shouldered from swimming away
cutting through water, weightless
not carrying your stare, your aprobation, your disregard
if ignored, let us ignore better, make an art of failure
suck the pipe, squeeze the last drop, inject, pop
those blue pills, as blue as you made me feel
psychiatry says nobody can make you feel anything
you choose
did you choose to feel nothing and by nothing
cause my center to crush softly inward
like the river flowers we press in our books
before you were born
carried over generation from generation
I laid in the grass wondering why
no lover had sought to please me
and the boughs of the trees revealed themselves
as my hand wandered back and forth
drenched in sweat
for who can satisfy a tin box with its lid hammered shut
who can know the heart of a girl who is told before she can walk
she isn’t enough, she’ll never be near sufficient
then you walked out of the river
green and shining like forested afterbirth
you did not care about forms and structure
spelling and photographic reproduction
you had a tongue and eyes and hands
like a thought with action
you claimed me beneath alders and pine
stretching so high, embracing unseen faith
I became a woman that day
crying out beneath your stones and mud and lillies
as white as an urge
with pink in the center
craving to crest in sun
and fall wilted back into water
Transformation within transformation
Revelation within obscurity
Discovery and loss
Passion and indifference
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – A poem rife with changes, reminding me of verse from “Changes”, a song by Phil Ochs:
“Passions will part to a strange melody.
As fires will sometimes burn cold.
Like petals in the wind, we’re puppets to the silver
strings of souls, of changes.”
Longing can bee an indescribable, nagging ache, but you always describe it so well.
“for who can satisfy a tin box with its lid hammered shut
who can know the heart of a girl who is told before she can walk
she isn’t enough, she’ll never be near sufficient
then you walked out of the river
green and shining like forested afterbirth”
This is powerful writing, Candice.
Thanks Tre
*sighs* “be” is misspelled. Stinking autocorrect.
You’re most welcome. I emailed you. I hope today is being kind to you.
I loved your sensual journey to find an authentic lover! Glad it ended on a high note!!
dwight
As I’ve said over and over again you are so gifted to tell your stories and make us fully feel what it was like to live through such things!!!! There is no going back for any of us no matter how much we plead that we want ours lives back! BUT the strengths and wisdoms gained is more than enough to make a good life still attainable! 🙂 ❤ xoxoxoxoxo
*hugs*
You are so right in all you say. I like that I cannot go back I can only go forward. So often we are told not to ‘go there’ and think of the past but I think the past informs us and carries us into the future. You have shown me the value of insight and wisdom.
Thank you so much dwight!
Thanks for the lovely comment❣️😘 Je t’aime, N
Ooo, “Forested afterbirth”.
I stay close and watch and listen.
Thank you very much! 💓
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.