When Truth shows it’s Face,
Why do we place a Mask in its Place,
As if Flowers to a Vase,
Left smelling the scent of Beauty,
Where the Burnt once Stood,
Ashes parading the Sky,
and falling onto my Face,
as if Honey was left to drip from its Combs,
and I am left Forgetting, and Foraging,
all the Hurt that comes with these Cuts I am now Bearing,
Believers of Love,
A Curse, and a Gift,
I often Curse my Body,
In the Aftermath,
of all this Ache in all the Rooms they once Filled,
Unearthing the Sodden Emptiness,
Even after they have Gone,
Even after I have showed them the Door out,
In the same Curse,
I bless myself for the Vastness of Love I can Contain
in this Tiny Being of Mine,
This Kaleidoscope of Feeling
It’s Colours, the strength of spirits Colliding,
My Friendships Spun in hearts that have been created in the Highest Degrees of Heaven,
Yet,
This Raw Grief,
This unending Cut that keeps sharpening its Knife upon my Chest,
This hurt is spilling out my Chest, and Mouth,
Hurling itself into the Atmosphere.
Where is the Pause?
The Breath, to catch Me?