Tag: #fool
Wounded bird
I tried with you, I really tried, and then I let you go
you flew out of the window even as it was closed
panes securely fastened
latch tight and unyielding
because you had never quite been
it was you see, a failure of mine
to find you flailing beneath yourself
with a few choice words you could
nourish from my adoration and mend
your rapid fast airy heart
containing only string
for what you need and not
enough for love
I was a clay maker
thinking fitfully if I put enough into shape
if my structure were sound and whole
if I poured water to prevent cracks
moistened over the thin spots
despite not being what you wanted
despite being a girl
despite having tired fingers
you would relent and
let me hold you in my lap
as crickets drowned the rush of air in hot melt
you were after all
used to mistreatment, I reasoned
surely a bird who had been injured
would long for peace?
the passion of sincerity
a terribly naive hope
when we all know
those who like the wound
will return to their abuse
not the arms of one who
is boring in her devotion
I never thought I should become
that very tedium
you strike against with mended wing
the one you answer last
when bored or idle
not they, who burn in your throat
wakefully lusting
whilst I feel already the part
of spinster and milliner
hemming your spare parts
it would be easy for me to
dress like you, smell like you
gather a flock of admirers
play midnight dalliances with
camera and music
cue .. lights .. pose .. fizz
and now that you have shown
your true feathers
I see a little of why you prefer this slovenly approach
it suits your downturn
your denial of yourself
and I feel embarrassed that you had me so hot
as you pulsed beneath my wonder
with practiced charm
so used to hearing the false words you live for
I do not own
a penis
though my strength and my passion
would have surprised you
I do not possess
a penchant for games or
the worship sufficient to be
your follower
your worshiper
so little bird
when you escape
please do not
return when the skies fall
and he stops calling
or insults your honor
because my fingers are burnt dry
from believing myself
needy of you
(Daquin, 1997.)
Third time lucky
The proverb
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”
Was in my mind when
I chose to forgive a third time
it was easy to say “if you hurt me again”
fill in the blank
but promises only matter if the person intends
to keep them
with your borderline posed to strike
it was impossible to calculate
if I would be cast again into fire
the only chance
how I chose to see the play
sacrifice the Pawn
save the Queen
it’s not that I’m especially important
but cruelty
cruelty is perhaps the last sin
unforgiving as karma
shows you the way out
you didn’t know it was only you I forgave
the other one who scratched I cast
far into the ocean
didn’t need their infernal clamor
they, just wreckage from a bad storm
I unfortunate to pass by at the wrong time
you were different
there was always something in the depth
of your eyes and quiet strength
yes I confess
I wanted not to lose you
but I could have said the same
when my mom closed the door quietly
packed her bags and went
see, you think you have me figured
maybe you do
aside one element I keep pretty tight
I’m stronger than even I know
it’s what happens when you get used to
let-downs
when you came and went third time and said
I don’t believe in you anymore
I don’t trust you
I think you’re shit basically
in the clear light of day I could see
this wasn’t about me
this wasn’t factual
sometimes others will believe
oh you must have something to do with it
just as the shallow person who told me
you’ve got a track record of being left
tried to leave her barb
what did she with her haikus know
of patterns? she needed rules to write
I had fucking wings
now she’s just
a taste in my throat I want to spit out
I grew up then when I learned
accusations may sting
but they’re not truth and those
who are weak enough to seize upon them
are just fools
with hypocrisy in their veins instead of blood
but you were different
you were my sister of the plains
we shared French blood
I admired you
it wasn’t enough
you cannot force someone to feel
or undo the damage wrought
in their mind before you met
it’s only necessary that you know
when it’s not because of you
which can be hard if you’re prone to guilt
that’s how we grow and develop armor
perhaps we won’t even trust
the next person who comes up
palms flat
asking for succor
or perhaps we will
because to shut the door
hurts only
the one who is left standing
when you tried to blow her down
erase her
when you hated yourself so much
you had to try to destroy
the mirror image
who refused
to shatter
stubbornly she still reflects
what you hate
about yourself and
what she loves
about you