I would demonstrate
that I’m thankful
to be with you,
but I cannot be “with” you;
we are one —
I am you,
and you are me.
Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
I would demonstrate
that I’m thankful
to be with you,
but I cannot be “with” you;
we are one —
I am you,
and you are me.
We’re all full of holes,
trying, desperately, to become wholes —
swelling, inserting, filling ourselves
with things as dispensable as they are harmful,
and we look over our
needles, nicotine, nudity, and nights
only long enough to wage
merciless judgments against
our neighbor’s holes-filler.
–Strong Language by Logan Gorg
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“I only love
creating and sharing art
and engaging
with other artists,”
I tell myself,
as I check
my stats page again.
(Does anyone else struggle with the balance of ambition and doing art for art’s sake?)
I’ve been
known as
reserved
quiet
reticent.
They would
hardly
recognize me,
now that you’ve
turned me
into a thing
that howls.
I cling to life
with white knuckles,
because it’s the only
thing I’ve ever known.
But, is that a good reason
to cling to something,
because it’s the only thing
you’ve ever known?
“What do you have to offer me?” she asked.
Nervously, I answer:
“I function within an economy
of words,
and I can offer you
a library
of books
written about the way
you look tonight.”
I’ve been a lot of things:
eager
reserved
euphoric
morose
confused
and
incorrigible,
but, today,
I am only
thankful
to have you.
Dizzy,
I run my fingers through your hair,
thinking that
you press
further through me
with every stroke.
I think
I am playing with your hair,
but it is me,
me,
who is being played with.
I have mourned you
for as long
as I have loved you;
for, from the moment
you became my heart,
I knew that,
someday,
my chest would
never be
that full again.
(What will I do with my eyes when they can’t look at you?)
During those moments
of fleeting humanity,
I reject painful sacrifice,
but then I recall the truth:
it is my highest honor
to do something,
for my God,
that hurts.