don’t be mine

don’t be mine.
i don’t want to own you
even if it’s like a jewel i purchased yesterday,
new and shiny.

come to me when your heart feels like it;
when your blood thirsts for my scent like an adventurous land.
love is a returning;
sometimes in wild, raging fires,
sometimes in drops of vapor from faraway countries.
i want to be your resting place,
your home for an evening,
for many evenings.

but don’t be mine.
there’s a tiredness that comes from belonging.
instead, visit me like a distant dream,
an unfinished love affair you wish to start again,
a beginning where ending can come but may not come.

i hold my desire like a flag for you
like there’s an army behind it.
upright. unwavering.
but i don’t hold a promise for tomorrow;
it would be heavy for us to carry expectations of what we ought to be.

don’t be mine.
come to me when your soul seeks the quiet in togetherness,
the space in becoming,
the hours of searching in all sorts of light.
come to me
when you hunger for the oneness that can only come with releasing each other.

©Tsion B., 2017

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love letter

last night, before i went to bed
i asked god to write me a love letter
because it’s been too long since i got one
and my soul feels tired from all the waiting.

i said look here god, i don’t need any fancy words
nor do i want you to write me a poem
i just need a few lines that say
‘your heart is fine, your heart will heal, your heart will love again.’

send me a rainbow
or a sunflower,
send me freshly turned ground, red and black and blue
send me seeds newly sprouting.
i’ll keep an eye out.

you have to do this for me.
or else i’m folding up the stuff that i’m made of.

i’ve done too much hoping in this vicious world
my knees have been skinned from too much falling
i’ve started growing bruises as if i were caned and stoned
beaten to brokenness
as if words could suck the blood closer to the skin
and skin wants to show off the invisible pain
wear it like a medal,
a prize of emerging.

send me a sign
a feather from an angel wing
dipped in ink dripping
like my pen and my tears.
or maybe a glimpse of my childhood dreams
where i can cup my hands and drink
from clear streams
take breath from all the running.

there are days i can’t remember my own name
this city feels like a wilderness to me
and i forget where to turn on roads i’ve taken so many times before.
my body has become a ragged field of rocks
where barefoot bleeds
a gentle touch turns me into gutters of muted screams.

so hurry!
i’ll keep a watchful eye for the coin in the dust
fled from a careless pocket
or colors in the sky
or a flower turning its head toward the sun
the forgotten sound of crooning water
a new growth.

i will wait.
my last waiting will be a not giving up
my last waiting will be an unwavering grace.

P.S.
i’m at the same address.

©Tsion B., 2017

cure

i’m not your cure.
i’m not sorry i’m not your cure
that i can’t take away all the pain you feel
all the betrayal, rejection, and inexplicable cruelties of this world we live in
i cannot wave my magic wand
nor work hard at loving and make all the hurt unhappen.
trust me i know, i learned this by failing
on you.

i’m sorry i promised i will be your fixer
put all the shattered pieces together and make you whole again
complete again
as if i knew you were ever complete, that your pieces were not in the galaxy somewhere
where in dreams you, only you can grab at them floating and fit them where you know they belong
like a jigsaw piece
from your childhood.

no, i’m not your cure
my love is not shaped to fill all your dark and angry cracks
it can no longer feed your insatiable caverns
and you know this is not a fair fight
hands and daggers, daggers and hands
i’m cut to pieces by the trying to mend you.

i’m sorry, i thought i could save you
pull you out of your misery
chase away your daemons
hold you like my babies and croon to you
everything will be alright, everything will be alright, everything will be alright
but sometimes, it won’t
for a very long time
while we’re looking to find ourselves.

and so,
although i am made out of unbreakable things
a woman
who can carry dust and dirt, stardust and broken shards of the universe
and sprout flowers like the earth
and sprout nectar from my breasts
although when i am beaten down, trashed, torn asunder
i grow wings instead
and flourish, and flourish, and flourish
i can’t cure your sickness.

i am not your healer
i am not your guru
i’m not your happiness, or your sadness, or your dream, or your future
i’m not your mystery
i am not your question
i am not your answer.

©Tsion B., 2016

i had a talk with fear

i am afraid.
fear buzzes in my head like a plane perpetually circling the runway
promising to take off to faraway places.

fear whispers in my ears:
where would you live, my dear?
how would you live, my dear?
what would your children feel?
what would they think of you?
how would their lives turn out?
are you ready, my dear?
fear whispers in my ears.

i sleep awake.
awake i sleep.

i dream of lions chasing me
i dream of eagles chasing me
i dream of fires chasing me…

spirits talk to me as i lay half awake
names of people and things
locations, coordinates, maps of places I’ve never been
i write them down in shaky hands
trying to memorize faces painted in dripping ink
as if it has just rained on them
smudges lost in my crumbling imagination.

every person i meet is a messenger
a number on a wall
a peeking sign from a deck of cards
a bold scripture in a passage of microscopic words.

what will you do without this pain?
what will you do with your spare energy?
what will you do without regret?
without resentment and hate?
what will you do? fear asks.

i do not know
my road is not certain.
i wade between euphoria and delirium.

a small cozy home with a yellow door
laughter, incense smoke, beaded curtains, christmas lights
goddess statues, mother mary, crystals and candles
an altar of victory
children, mud, puppies, unborn distant dreams
the rustle of papers as old pages turn
and sweet imperfection.

fear does not talk me out of my rumblings
she sits silently at the side of my bed
looking at me with an all knowing smirk
as if saying
what the hell are you waiting for then?

i am afraid
of losing this battle
of i told you so’s and cruel revenge.
things i cannot control
confrontations, public struggles, unfair judgement, bone-breaking hateful words.
standing out, standing down
heart-ache, depression, fast-speed fall into dark spirals of never ending depth.
and growing a tumor in my gut.

in the rare quietness of my soul-
i hear fear whispering-
you have time.
you have all the time in the world.
and if you stop all this nonsense, you will see
you have arrived, my dear.

i struggle to grasp what this could mean,
as i do with every sign,
with every unicorn that was thrown at me
while knowing
like i have always known.

©Tsion B., 2016

the dream calls for me

sometimes my heart wants to dance.
out of my chest, into the world
when the dream calls for me.

i walk away to the ancient woods
the spongy decay of fallen leaves meet my aching back
i dare the sun to find me.
i close my eyes open my soul
my life passes fleetingly with the struggling mist.

orange groves banana trees
creepers and lemongrass
the distance between me and the clouds
is a fig tree
but I forget that
like I forget the power a name has.

it all seems possible now
like lifting up my groggy hands to touch the spider web that lies above my head
ever so softly
it almost feels like i’ve touched an empty space.

do you know how you can catch a thought?
like you can catch a fly, or dust, or cold?
open your mouth
stick out your tongue
and wait…
for a drop of water from a dusty withered leaf
and run away with it.
back to the warmth, back to the dream
back to the stretched out hands.

this is my redemption,
from where I lie to the other tree
the one with peeling bark and moss covered hands
from here to there my eyes open
and I travel back home
where love
is the only option.

© Tsion B., 2016

things i lost in a dream

lock away this passage
lock it please, i’m begging you
and throw away the key
in the depth of things, in the depth of cells
where i cannot find it
make sure i will not find it.

i am a child
i hold things in my dreams and wake up crying
thinking i have lost them
thinking, i’ll never get them back.

yesterday-
i burst through the invisible things
fighting to bury me
into your arms again, now, again
i am happiness
into your arms.

i am the butterfly on that flower,
trusting, resting, restless.
i see every breath from the leaves,
and the earth.

and now i’m here
between things i have lost in a dream
weeping, broken, breaking.

please throw away the key
make sure i can’t find it.

© Tsion B., 2015