The First One Dies First

Hip Bone

‘Hip Bone’ by Gilbert Young

Yesterday,
you braced yourself.

With all the courage that you had,
you told them how you really felt,
and what all your affection meant.

Today,
they tell you that they love you.
They’re here to make your dark sky blue.
You give them butterflies inside too,
so they show you life,
and it’s brand new.
It’s an exciting time for you two,

and there’s nothing,
for your baby,
that you can’t do.

Tomorrow,
you’re going to have a big fight;

the things that they’ll say will hurt you.
If you threaten to leave if they don’t change,
they’ll react in a way that you’ll find strange.
The words that they’ll say will be quite true,
“I didn’t come to you first,
I didn’t want you.”

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Falling in Love is Masochistic

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Painted by John Park

I will never understand,
for as long as I live,
why people crave so hard,
why people ache so bad,
to fall in love.

I know that falling is nice,
falling is like flying,
and flying is nice,
but when the clock strikes 12,
one will have to pay the price.

Landing is tough,
landing is rough,
there are cuts on the face and neck,
and blood on the thighs and head.
The heart is broken into several pieces,
and air is taken out of the lungs.
The knees lose life and strength,
and the sides become so badly bent.

I hope they learn a lesson or two.
I stand by the scene and I watch,
hoping they’ll never, ever return,
but people climb on love’s hill again,
with smiles on their lips
and laughter in their mouths,
wobbling with a partner in hand,
to fall into that dark pit once more,
to die again.

Between Worlds

SLEEP BY RENAT RAMAZANOV

‘Sleep’ by Renat Ramazanov

Do you know what it means,
do you know how it feels,
to be one of the living
at a time when you are dead?

To not be of that world,
the one you left behind,
or be fully in that one,
the one that is ahead.

You are able to move
but you can barely walk.
You are able to say words
but you can barely talk.
You are very sensitive
but you can barely sense.
You remember how to remember
but you can barely think.

You are able to hear
but you very barely know.
It’s hard for you to understand,
and so painfully so.
You are able to look
but you can barely see.
You’re hanging in midair;
you don’t have any wings.

To not be able to rewind
and start all over again,
or be able to move on,
and fly far far away.

Do you know what it means
when everything means nothing?
Do you know how it feels
when you cannot feel?

The Love Rove

Spirit Painting- Elaine Clayton

Spirit Painting – Elaine Clayton

Love is death.
To fall in love truly is to die,
to bury you in yourself,
your arms,
your doubts,
your fears,
past hurts that brought tears.

To fall in love truly is to become a spirit,
to levitate,
to float and glide through the day,
and even with your eyes wide open,
to dream.
It’s an experience that gives your body
control of itself;
it smiles when you don’t ask it to,
and flies when you don’t know how to.

Love is birth.
To fall in love truly is to be reincarnated
while you keep the same skin.
It is to be reborn,
to become a foetus before you sleep,
hugging and kissing the air
when they are not near,
speaking to them
even when they can’t hear.
It is to become someone else,
someone new,
seeing things that are not there,
feeling things that make you bare.

To fall in love truly is to want to grow,
to want to know,
trusting and wondering like a child.
It is to be happy,
to be unafraid,
to be very aware and ill,
to be at peace.

For Michael.

Bitter-Sweet

How can a yang be a yin?
How?
How can a thing that ought to heal, hurt?
How can a thing that ought to help you walk,
and better still,
give you wings,
keep you in chains,
and make you weak?
How?
How can a thing that ought to give you life
take your breath?
How can a feeling
be the opposite of itself,
when unrequited?
A thing so sweet and tender,
like a newborn baby,
but strong enough
to put you in a chokehold
when you least expect it?

Isn’t love delicate?
Isn’t love dangerous?

The Only Constant Thing

Who says the only constant thing is change?
My belly hurts from trying to hold back my laughter,
because even change isn’t always constant.

Sometimes, when you don’t want Change,
when you are sincerely happy with where you are,
and the things you have,
she looks for you and disrupts your house, anyway,
whether or not she has a new one ready.

Many times, when you seek change,

you don’t always get it;
you yearn for it and look for it
but you don’t always find it.

Change closes her eyes when you need her most
and pretends to be legally blind,
and so, even change isn’t constant or stable.
You can’t hold your breath for her,
put all your eggs in her basket,
or put your trust in her.

The only constant thing
is nothing.

The Passover

He looked like every other angel of birth,
but he was an angel of death,
He looked like every other angel of berth,
but he was an angel of dearth.
He would make you moan in pleasure
so he could make you groan in pain.
I had been warned by his ex-prey,
and I was prepared to drive him insane.
I sprinkled the blood of his victims
on my door,
and in my eyes,
and in my ears,
and on my lips,
and on his head.
“You can’t kill me like you did them.
You have tried in vain, lame.”
He passed right over me,
and he never called me again.

You’re My Love

If love had a taste,
it would taste like you.
If love had a smell,
it would smell like you.
If love could smile,
it would, like you.
If love could laugh,
it would, like you.
If love could cry,
it would, like you.
The shape of your eyes
is the shape of love.
I love you because
you are Love;
my heart chose you.

Out of Reach

The stars have remained special
because they live in the sky,
far away from our touch.
If they lived in the sand,
we would mistreat them 
and kick them around,
and they would mean nothing to us-
nothing more than mere stones.
We would get too used to them,
and we would not appreciate them.

I should have stayed out of your reach.

A Damn Mess

I was licking my wounds
but you stopped me.
You wanted to do it
so I let you.
You licked and sucked till
my wounds became scars.
Then, you cut me again
at the exact same spots.

So, here I am, a damn mess,
studying our synastry chart
for the 50th time,
fiddling with tarot cards,
tiredlessly hoping you’d come back.
I want your tongue and yours alone,
and I know that even if you return,
you would lick me up
so you can cut me again.