poetry

Love [oh yes, I’m frightened of meeting myself] (rejection) (II)

They say when you’re happy to meet yourself,

that’s the day you discover you’re free.

But what if you have the opportunity to do so,

and instead of feeling free,

the only thing you can do

is find it in yourself to

reject yourself?

And if your rejection of me for 28 years,

and your rejection of me for 11 or more,

and my rejection of the both of you

as you needed to be –

as you deserved to require,

as you were wired to want,

as life wished you to manifest

lest anything approaching a bending

out of shape would make not

earth exactly move but, rather, all of us

quake timorously in our marching boots …

just imagine then if all the above

had meant I was done, and dusted, and

frustrated into an incapability of being,

how I might feel tomorrow and in

coming days when I end up

discovering the nature of my self

and – in horrified silence –

do reject my reality?

 

I am terrified, I tell you:

I just want sweet and loving embrace

to tell me my life and being are OK;

to indicate with precision of

mathematical nature, even,

that the nature of life is not

bad for me now.

 

I am terrified, dear universe:

please reach out to me now;

please help me understand the

processes going on;

please tell me that love may truly

conquer my need to be touched with

a skin against skin; to be hugged and

made whole again; to find

peace in a sex again;

to make sex a part of me

not apart from me, any more …

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