Sometimes I feel like there is too much greatness between us.
That you are so full of life on your own.
That when you’re with me, you overflow.
There’s no space left in you for
the greatness in me.
We are each other’s lifebuoys
but we’re not the right size.
There are things we need to do,
emotions we need to get rid off,
loads that we need to dump,
and it can’t be done with us together.
Are we running from the
only real thing we’ve ever had?
As though accepting it would mean
that we are diminished flames,
kept in cages by
torturing winds and caps of snow. Then, yes.
But it’s not wrong.
I overflow, he overflows.
We can only fit, when we are each the right size.
Be it in this lifetime or the next.
There will always be something there,
where there is nothing now.
You always leave something behind.
Some days when I wake up alone in my bed, I feel haunted.
Accompanied by the pieces that I have taken from the men I’ve been with.
Their stories – of their past loves, families, homes, dreams, futures
There is a heaviness that comes with sharing your bed with people.
There is a responsibility to keep that vulnerability safe.
I enjoy seeing men like this, wanting, needing me.
Taking me in, becoming familiar with my scent and taste, then craving it.
I always thought that being with someone was nice.
when you’re young and frivolous, you don’t think about the heaviness you’ll feel someday,
even if you know its coming.
someday, you get tired of sharing yourself, you want there to just be someone constant.
someone worthy, interesting, unfailing. that’s it really, at the end of the day, that’s the only thing we want.
someone who’s actually there.
My soul honours your soul.
I honour the place in you where the entire universe resides.
I honour the light, love, truth, beauty and peace within you,
because it is also within me.
In sharing these things we are united,
we are the same,
we are one.
What the end of every yoga class feels like.
I used to think that it would never be possible, feeling nothing, where once there was everything.
knowing that I loved you with everything in my being. craving for everything
– for your smell, for your hand, for the crevice in your back that I used to lay my head, your musk, your hair between my fingers, that spot on my neck you knew –
i still crave for it, but i don’t want you.
they say the last person you think about at night matters the most to you – now I think about myself, that spot used to be saved for you.
i found the word for it today. anagapesis.
no longer feeling any affection for someone you once loved.
you have been anagapesis-ed. it sounds clean, sterilized.
it’s like you were surgically removed from me,
somehow, slowly & very painfully I must add.
and now there is nothing where everything used to be.
Silent hands of the night; like your sweet caress
Engulf me in their intoxicating bliss of peace
Take me into their gentle folds and surround me
No longer do I feel the cold, no longer am I alone
Secret songs play in the air; like your whisper
Deemed to be a soft siren, I am hypnotized
Mesmerized by the enchanting melody of pain
I listen, I linger and I no longer feel the need to cry
Dreams of a faraway place; like your face
Creep in and out of my sleep, confusing me
The fine line between reality and fantasy dissipates
I lull in between both worlds, never fully conscious
Sore and aching I lay down; like I have with you
I seem to be awake, I seem to be asleep; all assumptions
I’m numb to the world, to you; to this confusion I’m blind
Sleepless nights and endless days, save me. I’m wasted.
It’s hard to believe that I wrote this 8 years ago. I need to start writing again.
You can’t blame the kids for not having faith in all the things we’ve seen go belly up.