Could I dream without seeing you here?
Think, without placing you near.
Live in ways that don’t think of your spirit
Stand in the wind, without hearing you in it.
Could I sing any song and not feel you inside?
I can open my heart, my soul, and my mind
My body laid bare for skin to collide –
No regret for the shape my lips cannot hide
I could fuck what’s on offer and not give a damn
Stand upright tall, proud bold as I am
Take off my pleasure in flesh with another
But my hearts always yours, my souls other.
I was not strong enough. I could not be what you called me to be.
I am sorry, but also not.
When there is nothing I am happy in a kind of way that does not tear apart my soul and mind.
When there is nothing I can do all the world demands of me to meet the needs of those given to me to care for, as is expected in the way dictated.
When there is nothing I can hide away from the screaming in my head telling me the world is sick to the core and I MUST do my part in healing it. Healing me, them, us.
When there is nothing, I can be nothing, and in that nothing I am exactly that – a being.
Being everything I have to be and nothing of what I cried out for to be for me, for them, for you.
My voice falls silent and I leave the speaking to those who have life left in their bones to grasp hold of truth and live it, curse it, throw it into the abyss of writhing bodies falling over each other in search of gratification and satisfaction within themselves – searching nowhere in nothing for the answer of who they are. They are nothing, like me, numb to the call of the mountain and spring. Waiting for thunder. Waiting for the heavens to open and swallow them into their imagined places. But they sit idly busy not seeking, hearing, nor seeing themselves in the nothing.
The nothing is safe – easy.
No fires scorch, no oceans to drown in. No up nor down, no happy or sad.
Nothing exists in solitude. Nothing exists in isolation from itself.
Nothing is the space that joins the universe to itself.
Nothing was there, before there was everything. Yet you call to me and make of me nothing
all this while as I try to be everything for you, just like you.
You are the everything and I the nothing and so it is true that I am and so are you,
nothing and everything as time moves forwards and backwards.
I am there. Turned out. Turned inside to the places before I was.
Now nothing under you in your everything,
I bow in weakness to be strong in these spaces between gravity,
my ears not waiting for the thunder, my eyes not grasping for the sky to suck me up.
No fire, no ocean, just you – as nothing was before everything came to be.
You are nothing, to me.