And To Be Left Eternally Fading Into Silence Over

And to be left eternally fading into silence over

And over

And over.

And to be left to waste away in the shadow of a man’s vanity.

~Echo speaks for us all

Inhale me and keep me there

What is a woman if not a smile in the face of a storm

What is a woman if not the storm

If not the crechendoing tempest and

The ethereal melody that somehow never loops back again

Unpredictable familiar rhythm

If not lilting music box laughter

A cacophony of karma

What is a woman if not an expanse of endless possibly

If not a universe in static motion

If not the duality of an ocean

In all her calm lethality

Her peaceful wild

In all her vastness and instiabilty and depths never to be discovered

What is a woman if not a warning to be careful what you wish for

If not a walking contradiction

A winding metaphor

An invitation to drown yourself amongst her depths

All sin and

Salvation and

Sacrifice

All risk and

Reward and

Redemption

If not the remembering and the revenging

What is a woman if not salacious second chances

If not doubting into oblivion only to be resurrected over and over

And Over Again

If not myth and martyr and miracle

If not warrior and wish and whim

What is a woman if not ravaged battlefield and a bullet wound just clotting

A freshly dug grave that still smells like flowers and earth and possibility

If not stitches pulled taunt and the soft skin of a scar

If not delicately crafted battle wound

If not the art of unbreaking

What is a woman if not a champagne toast and red wine stain

If not shattered glass and shards that will lodge themselves under your fingernails

What is a woman of not midnight blaze and forest fire and funeral pyre

What is a woman if not

burning

burning

burning

What is a woman if not waist curved like a flame

What is a woman if not

Anything she wishes to be.

The first time you tried to teach me to bake

I was confused

As to how only a teaspoon of baking soda

Was supposed to do anything

"Surely it needs more.

Won't it be diluted?

Lost amongst all the other ingredients?

How is it supposed to make a difference?

It is just

A teaspoon"

And you smiled at me,

Just a couple drops of joy

Of exasperation

Of love

Of something I couldn't quite describe--

No more than a teaspoon

And I realized then,

How a teaspoon of just the right element

Can make something rise

Expand

Explode

Fill to the brim and spill over its edges

How just a teaspoon

Can be enough

To complete

The recipe

How just a teaspoon

Is integral

To ensure

Something becomes

Everything you know it can be

~Lessons learnt by accident~

I think if I have to come undone for someone, I would rather it be you.

Which is to say, I would prefer it to be you. Which is to say, I would like to unravel, and I would like it to be at by your hand. Which is to say, I would like to earn the honour of being loved by you. That I would like to have the pleasure of loving you unconditionally.

Because I think that if I were to give you my heart, you would treat it kindly. That if I were to show you my scars, you would memorize their pattern. That if I were to bear my soul to you, you would bear yours to me. I would like to love you and be loved by you, if you think you wouldn’t mind it. 

Because I know you will always offer me the hot water for my shower first. And even if I never take you up on it, I know you will. I want that with you.

I would like cabinets over flowing with tupperware and glass jars and old ice cream containers in the fridge filled with your mint chutney. I want bookshelves crowded more with your hand bound make-shift notebooks than novels. I want to grumble about stolen covers as I wake chilled in the morning and laugh it off clinging to you for warmth instead.

I want sunlight filtering in through our curtains on Saturday morning to dust your lashes and cheeks and still being allowed to be the one to wake you. I want to watch you dance with a broom across the living room (as I wipe down the kitchen counters) singing to a song from a musical I haven't listened to but have become familiar with through moments like these. I want you to try to teach me how to cook and not mind when I mess up the soup I attempt to make you when you fall sick. I want to be there when you are sick. 

I want to be allowed to care for you. I want to do so many loads of laundry together we forget who's pjs belong to who. I want to stop caring about what belongs to who with you. I want to feel you slip into bed next to me at 3 am still scented with your favourite take out I left on the table for you because I knew you would be home late. I want that with you.

I want to memorize your favorite take out order and how you like your tea. I want to memorize at least 75% of your playlist. I want to be allowed to hold you when no one else is. I dont care if I'm always your plus one but I want to be the first person you call when the night is over. Your tipsy phone call filled with soft smiles and hiccups. I want to be the person you come home to. I want you to be the person I come home to.

I want to let you convince me that we should get a cat. Even though I have never owned a pet in my life. I want to realize it has grown on me as we both hold fast to your pillow in bed while you are away because it smells like you. 

I would like to be allowed to miss you, in a gentle aching kind of way. The kind tinged with the reassurance that you will be coming home to me, eventually. 

I don't care what the books say. I want to hold your hand until the butterflies migrate out of us and we watch them flutter along the ceiling dancing with ribbons of sunlight. I want to know you until your presence evokes nothing but peace. I want to find peace with you. Which is to say, I would like to, if it is all the same to you. 

Torn fabric

Numb fingertips

Laughter carried on the wind

The serrated edge of the key to my heart

How long has it been since we last touched

And what a defeat it is to give in to trust

The repetitive nature of loving

Box of jostled moments

Breaking a new places

Agitating old fault lines

Laying atop a pile of decomposing leaves

Layers of ink

You, a cup of dawn: light and redemption spilling over your edges

Even the Sun cannot flood the Entire world at once

I am ode no more mercy than what I have Dealt

I tell myself I am here because I want to be But it still feels a lot like exile

And who am I to say that I ought to be loved

~my miscellaneousness~