too young, it was too real

It has been a while since my last post. I have spent the last 5 weeks on the island of Koh Phangan in Thailand. Training in Muay Thai (Thai Boxing), letting go and letting in, learning, and loving. I didn’t write any poetry while I was away. I wrote lots of stream of consciousness and journaled every day, so I hope to skim through those pages for inspiration.

I have been letting go and forgiving much these last weeks, leading into the new year. This piece is a process of that letting go. It has taken me 10 years, but the weight has lifted.

First for fun and play,
and as time elapsed and our cognition delayed,
the letters of attachment stitched a web to contain us.
*
As seeds of lovers were sown,
I decorated my skin with what makes me,
my empathy lay across my chest,
my sensitivities shone brightly against my flesh,
every emotion and feeling, adorned.
And fearing less my vulnerabilities, opening heart to your touch.
*
You didn’t see,
nor feel.
too young.
it was too real.
 *

I was hurting, as you chased me down and broke back.

I was mourning, as you lashed out at me, scolded me for being a “child”.
Tears didn’t fall, and through clenched teeth, I hated you.
Loved you, couldn’t walk away.
I wore a mask, and masked my mouth with tape.
Too scared to spill guts or speak truths.
You’d walk.
I wanted you to stay.
Need is not an adjective, I was not needy.
Need is not a noun, do not define me so.
I seek nothing but recognition, nothing but awareness, just your thought.
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About dustforthedancers

Poet, creative, cultural and community seeder, feeder, maybe one day I'll be a leader. Of my own path at least...
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