Holy (Long Poem)

Discussion in 'Poet's Corner' started by BelovedDreamer, Mar 8, 2007.

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  1. BelovedDreamer

    BelovedDreamer Well-Known Member

    I wanna stop fighting.
    I’m tired
    and I just wanna stop.
    You know there’s nothing to say
    or no way to say
    to the people I love
    that I’m tired
    and I wanna stop fighting
    I wanna stop fighting
    this thing.
    This thing that you’ve never seen
    that maybe you’ve felt
    just maybe
    in those moments
    those moments which have grown
    and multiplied over the last year or so
    those moments when I looked at you
    and you knew I wasn’t seeing you
    or anything you knew.
    I wanna stop fighting this thing
    this unseen, unseeable thing.
    I want to stop fighting
    against this nothing
    this unknowable
    unsolvable nothing.
    I want to stop medicating myself into nothing
    I want to stop feeling this
    this way
    this way this feeling that is
    so immediate and yet so abstracted
    and yet so important and overwhelming
    and so nothing
    so devastating in its nothingness.
    I want to get a hold on myself again
    I want to grasp myself
    and hold her steady
    this thing
    this thing that I am
    and say, “This. This is me.”
    “This is what makes up my self.
    This exists. This is. This is.”
    I want to be able to hold her steady
    and know. Know that I am
    and that I am this thing.
    And then I want to put down the banner
    and let my arms hang down
    and my breath rush out
    and I want to let go
    and I don’t want to have to swim back.
    I want all these many things.
    These many things that are so at odds with each other.
    I want to change this soft, so soft
    this bruised and flaccid body
    and wring out of it something new.
    But I don’t know if that something new
    is really a thing that I want
    that the want is maybe not something
    that is in me
    but something that is on me
    that makes me hate
    such a foreign and invasive emotion
    that makes me hate this body
    this being
    this flesh of my flesh
    that is so strong and so compact
    and so true to form and so strong
    so surprisingly strong.
    I don’t know
    I just don’t know.
    I am not a man
    but I do not feel that I am such a thing as a woman
    I exist in a vacuum between
    as with everything
    neither here nor there.
    I AM a woman i am i am i am
    and I don’t mind it
    don’t want to be anything else
    I just want to be here between. myself.
    as always. as it should be.
    God, how I want to write that book
    that short story
    that long novel
    that American dream
    the 21 century novel
    that books of poems, this book of
    journal of life in lyric form.
    How I want to LIVE
    Do you hear me God?
    God to whom I am not sure of
    have never quite prayed to
    have never gotten down on knees and said straight to
    Dear God Eloi Eloi
    but sometimes have thought it
    Dear god I want to live
    but I’m not sure how
    and sometimes it hurts
    and I’m not sure how to protect myself
    and not sure how to say no how to say yes
    how to say help me god help me
    how to stave off this fear and this lonely empty
    I want to stop sometimes so bad
    so bad.
    I see the places where once I wounded my body
    and part of me cries
    and part of me curses
    and part of me cries holyholyholy
    while part of me closes eyes
    or averts head
    and looks away in shame.
    And I take nine pills a day
    different shaped different colored
    and nothing cries holyholyholy
    but some small voice whimper whispers
    hope maybe hope maybe not.
    And I fear
    fear what I would be without them
    fear what I will be with every one of the three
    or the two that are supposed to heal
    the invisible
    and fear tear and rage against the thing i fear
    the terror, whole body bone shaking
    dread that I will wake
    or come to the end of a day
    and find that I have lost whatever talent I might have had
    that as I swallowed down a round white pill
    I shit out my passion and my drive and my gift
    that thing I never trusted that I had
    and rarely spoke of aloud
    but held onto in the darkest of my
    hellish nights of self doubt and impossibility.
    And even as I shake against this thing
    as I rage, mute imperfect vulnerable
    I rage against the fear that I will one day wake
    and find that I no longer can
    “rage, rage against the dying of the light”
    and that the baby really has been
    thrown out with the bath water
    and that
    brilliant as the cure was
    we really have
    lost the patient. so to speak.
    but I’m no Hemingway
    no Thomas
    I haven’t even made it close to that far.
    but if I don’t keep on
    keeping on
    I’ll never have the chance.
    I don’t know how to say it
    don’t know how to explain my exhaustion
    explain my fear and revulsion
    and despair and my love
    without sounding so young
    that it negates the point
    or makes me feel ill just listening
    from inside my head
    like a younger sibling
    with my ear pressed against the wall.
    I don’t know how to make these clumsy
    cumbersome words
    form these lumbering deleterious thoughts
    without making them more so.
    I don’t know how to uncross myself
    and my ungainly coltish mental legs
    and find a way to choose between here
    and there and nowhere
    how to make loss and lost real
    when none of it
    is anything but immaterial
    in this grand scheme, be there a grand scheme,
    of things.
  2. theleastofthese

    theleastofthese SF Friend Staff Alumni

    :eek:hmy: I'm at a loss for adjectives to describe this giant opus...:eek:hmy:

    But I do wish with all my heart that you didn't have to suffer so from the agony of Being.:sad:


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