My head is I was going to say heavy but is that accurate? On with it. I feel pressure, but it could be the barbie pink scrunchie gathering my wild mane in a messy bunch. Lately, typing annoys me. I want only pen and ink and quiet and I want connection but not like that. So. Damn. Sensitive. I love it. But get the fuck out of my face … unless you speak my language — body. Maybe I’m being ridiculous but have you ever felt your heartstrings as actual things? Threads emanating from your thumping chest and you can pull them and your heart unzips and all in a moment of trust you’re thrust wide open? Devotion. Magnetic. And have you then gone to the supermarket and felt fumbling humans drawn your way like moths towards a flame? But they don’t know why and they are clumsy and it’s disturbing, exhausting. Peace in the garden. I’ve got to release my hair from this scrunchie so my head can breathe. That is the only thing — loving you and breathing — and that is enough for me, except I have to make this presentation and read these books and make these offerings. Yes. The offerings. I like to pour; of course, my preference is to flow in your direction, yet, if I writhe on the floor a moment, maybe I can release my resistance to opening more, and more, and more. I find pleasure again in the work I’ve come for, and that is it, isn’t it? It is, whatever it is. Peace in the valley. Peace in the garden. My heart is glowing and rather than shattered, as it was this morning, it is soft and rich and layers of bubblegum pink and caramel oozing through the veins of it and I soften my skin, the barrier between my pulsing and everything I’m touching. Thresholds dissolving and pools of gold enrobing my sweetness. I can sense the difference through blurred edges, ripples of energy yours and mine and wavelike. You’re invited in. Now I know what home feels like.
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Woooow this is superb. I love how it has a rhythm all its own. A prime example of how free verse can be downright musical, in some ways incredibly musical. Music itself also comes from that same Eros that you dance with so skillfully here. At the same time, this one really has your own personal voice in it. Would love to hear this recorded. It has spoken word energy, I think. Since it’s deeply profound and deeply personal and diary-like all at the same time. And the echoes of the rhymes…it’s timed just right. The rhymes almost form a musical key that the whole piece is in, somehow.
This poem is absolutely breathtaking. It takes the reader through the meanderings of your mind, as Mike said, in a rhythmic, musical sort of way. It feels incredibly creative and healing all at once, sharing kisses of the Muse, generous and tender. Definitely heart-opening 💗