- *blanks in place of definite markers and one name/relationship within the conversationME: how are you poet/songwriter/prophet?POET TOO: i'm well dear. How are you love? Why are you up with the heavens?
- ME: insomnia
or ... something
bereft of love
missing my mommy
all of the above
POET TOO: I understand
in company
@)--------
ME: write on, friend. I look forward to be-coming of friendship... the growing and the groping of it... I'm sincerely glad I "met" you... and I don't just mean met you in a physical place in _______, but that too... so thank you for meeting me back - POET TOO: indeed dear. how long has it been? if i'm not too intrusive
ME: how long has what been?
my mommy 2002
bereft of love February 2013
insomnia... off and on all my life lol - POET TOO: how is your heart? your hope?
ME: you really are a poet... we go straight for the heart...
my heart is broken/shattered in ways I didn't know possible - POET TOO: and your hope?
ME: I have always been a lover... called to be... wrapped many in this orb of love... as a way of living... but ... the cracks this time has left me unbelieving that I will ever love or be loved again in an erotic/passionate/breathless way
so... hope... is ... less
cracks... *have (despise grammar mistakes, even when/if I'm ranting or crying)
I am an old woman, now
I wasn't... before February...
then, I was ... seasoned... experienced... sagely... wise... and age was an ally for all the knowledge I held...
now... I am ... an old woman - POET TOO: what is old to you? what is youth to you? what in your breathing, do you feel you've lost/given away?
are you ok dear? I apologize if my questions weren't gentle to your moment - ME: I'm a poet... what do I know of gentle?old isn't in the age... I felt alive and vibrant... age-less... beyond the categories...now... I cannot move without the pain, internal and external... the creaking of bones and soul... the canker of itgrief ages me...consumesconcrete boots to my beingand I cannot/have not been able to... surface for air... the weight of boots not made for living...
- POET TOO: what have you gained? what has gained you?
ME: I was deeply loved... of that I am sure. perhaps still deeply loved
and souls thrive with knowing they are known
but... and here are the headwaters of grief... I am greedy... I want it still
and I feel... I have not been numb... as painful as that is, it is gift... - POET TOO: passing through you?
- ME: I don't know... maybe lodging... I'm not a masochist, so pain is not a welcome friend, but it is a reminder that I'm human...I just saw something you posted June ___:
"I am so grateful that i'm not cruel" - POET TOO: from your expression. it seems to be passing through...and that is the healthiest pain
- ME: I had not seen it... but my ______ (__________) and I talked today about that fact that "being cruel" is not one of our flaws
or yesterday, now
I am not cruel...
even in grief
especially in griefPOET TOO: indeed - ME: well, confessor, thank you for being here in insomnia
perhaps that was the gift of sleeplessness
I'm going to try to lay down for an hour or two - POET TOO:
- ME: And you, sir.
(Don't know that it's "copywrite" worthy and no, I didn't ask permission, but you also don't know who it is)June 18, 2013
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