you are

since the day i could sit alone with my thoughts
i knew my life would be anything but ordinary.
with twists and spirals of magic
wafts of remembrance from another life.
and you my darling,
you are the potion that melts my resistance and holds together all the fallen pieces for me to build a different kind of resistance
the kind that knows what’s worth fighting for.

you are the quiet in my angry sobs.
you are the balm on my open wounds.
the defiance in my brokenness
the silent dare that makes me want to run toward my fears.
you are a pilgrimage my sore and tired feet still want to walk
toward freedom and uncertainty.
you are the tomorrow on the hem of today.

my love,
you are the heat between my legs.
my forgotten desire
my forsaken dreams
you are the reunion of all the selves i’ve lost.
a fight. a reconciliation.
you are my indifference turned acute feeling.
my ice broken to warmth.

you are my ugly truth.
a mirror unto reality
an anchor holding me tight and steady
my madness
my shock
my utter disbelief
my calm tolerance of myself and you.

you are a dream.
you are time passing slow, then fast, then slow.
you are my minute at a time.
my day at a time
my thought at a time
my hope at a time
you are my now that stretches to eternity.
with you i know home is not a place but a safe passage
an unhurried resting.

darling you,
you are the stuff my poetry is made out of.
you are my words, my ink, the strikethroughs in my script.
you are the mystery in the plot of my life.
you are my unforeseen turn that should have got me lost but instead
brought me here.

[OneRepublic’s Let’s Hurt Tonight was playing over and over in my mind when I wrote this poem]

©Tsion B., 2017

name calling

you should have your breasts done.
i’m more than willing to pay for it.
i know you’re proud of them.
but you know, you’ll just have them bigger.
trust me, they will look good on you.
oh, and while you are at it,
get your teeth straightened too
may be a brace will do.

that week, i stood in front of the mirror every day,
and looked at myself differently.
at the things that needed correction:
my small breasts which have fed two babies till their cheeks grew chubby and their thighs grew dimples i like to rest my fingers in as they fall asleep on my milk.
my barely crooked teeth that have grown to the front over the last few years.
my receding hairline.
the tiny furrows that have emerged at errant places on my face.
i never noticed them before.
may be he is right.

you know they do amazing hair transplants in Turkey.
i can take care or your brow problem for you,
so you don’t have to worry about them every day. wouldn’t that be great?
and if you want, we can go somewhere where they can give you more shapely calfs.
then you can wear dresses more.

now, i can tell you this.
sometimes, it will take you hours.
sometimes, it will take you years.
sometimes, you may never get to call something by its name.

i love you, but…
you’re beautiful, but…
you’re almost perfect, if only…
honey braised sour.
call it by its name.
abuse.
abuse.
changing its faces.
you should not take a minute of it.

he will tell you, he’s never hit you before,
never even raised his hands.
he’ll take offense when you call the cards.
‘you ungrateful bitch’ he will say.
he’ll say he’s given you everything you’ve never had.
and you will feel guilty.
even while knowing these words you make poetry out of
can be poison.
said in the right way, cunningly, at opportunistic times,
they will give you wounds you’ll find hard to recover from.

don’t take a minute more of it.
call it by its name no matter what.
abuse.
abuse.
changing its faces.
honey braised sour.
spit it out.
and walk away!

©Tsion B., 2017