#this is exposure therapy for publishing writing i'm not personally proud of it

[grandma-course]

One day, the church decided to open the window

i'm a writer. sometimes i even write things. when they're not very good, i put them on tumblr. read, my children, read.

Is there anything I would not give to have you well, my heart? You think I pile on the praise because I am expecting a reward. Can't you see it? Haven't you ever caught that smile in a mirror? You are here already. Now I only need to keep on being worthy of you. It is so often viewed as a desperate effort. Nothing about loving you is hard. I have been told only the falsity is easy, the surface, the self-gain. I have found you the most yielding thing to hold in a universe of possibilities and I do not think I'm missing anything. Maybe I can't see the hard parts because for me, the joy's in the labor. I am ecstatic to do the work. If you need me to carry you, that's just more time spent with you in my arms. In what world would that be taxing? What version of my heart could ever say no? You are a dear little lamb and with care I lead you away from the slaughter. I don't forbid you glancing back. There's things worth seeing amongst all the rubble and bodies. Love once resided there. Now it has moved. We are walking towards its new house with no hurry in our steps. For all my care, I trust you. You are breakable. I've put you together before. Fragile never meant a thing in need of locking away. Cages are harsh. My hands are soft, around your throat they remain soft, they are warm, they are all you know of the new world. They are all you need to. All love ultimately corrupts, makes you fight against what is palatable, what comforts and what sells the lies. If I love you in a broken world and I'm tired, that does not place a duty on you to start being kissed by the splinters. It is on me to heal the earth, to mold the clay into something that will not wound what I am bored of tending to. Could you trust me if I told you there is more in your heart to attract the butterflies that carry you through this all? Be not afraid. The cocoon is a bed to melt into. The wings weigh air. Metamorphosis only hurts if you kick. Come back for me before you fly off, well-loved dove. Promise me a soft resurrection. Promise me you will not cut yourself on every shard of stained glass. The martyr needs blood, you say. The martyr has plenty of his own. Shed your tears, whether crystal or crimson, on a softer kingdom. I can swear on all kinds of tomorrows. I can swear on one that will not see you afraid. On a hundred that will see you happy. On any and every that will see you loved.

#writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #poetry #original poem #i don't know any more poetry/writing tags for this oh well #this is exposure therapy for publishing writing i'm not personally proud of it #i hope someone else will be #i've no idea whether that's a poem #but i suppose #i am an actual very real very serious writer on everywhere but tumblr #and i too live for feedback so #if your heart felt anything besides a twinge of embarrassment #indulge me #let me know #thank you #to get to create anything at all is a gift #ultimately it is a gift