Search

I am this, a heavy weight,

a solid sensible creature.

Despite my protestations,

wild exhibitions

and repeated claims to be

otherwise,

I am a structure of order

asking to be demolished.

These tight, wound-up

spools of dreams

woven in my soul-veins

long to be unraveled.

The silences want

to be shouted.

You are a tidal wave,

a forest fire, a lightning storm,

a comet surging

through and dislocating

constellations.

You want to be contained,

defined, despite your

blatant disregard of rules

and expectations.

You want to be captured,

your sharp serrated edges

defined, your slippery

love claimed, your

brutal truths

validated.


Come here, to me,

where I am,

everything with proper

places and timetables,

with my constructs and

philosophies to match

and engage your

wildnesses.

I have vast spaces where

you can burn,

embraced by high walls,

papered with

loud written words

and painted pictures,

riddles masquerading

as conversations,

a labyrinthine trap.

I hold frequent

parties of one.

You can crash in,

anytime. Please.


I want to be flooded

by your chaos.

Breach these

boundaries, burn through

these hardened defenses,

sweep me off my feet,

help me defy

my own gravity. I will

leap into your abyss.

I promise to

anchor you, afterward,

give you a safe berth

within the dragon-dwelled

country of my heart.

I will be your

North Star,

the constant of your soul.

You will be my

release.

2 views0 comments

Dreaming and daring

and experimenting are more fun

when you are much younger

because you have all those years ahead

when you can maneuver or change course.

When you are older the six-lane highway

narrows into a single-lane country road,

with no sure promise of a gas station ahead,

and the maps won't help you.

Here there be dragons.

But now even the dragons don’t care.

Not for you anyway.

Dead-ends come up more frequently

than you think they ought.

Footpaths abound and they promise

slow-going and possible loops

and various levels of lostness.

Witches in baked houses wave you away.

They think they have nothing to gain from you.

Your blood is bitter, they say, your skin is tough.

Your eyes are murky

and your heart has been broken too many times.

You have bled in more ways than one,

you are tainted and damaged.

You are no prize.

You have no price,

but not in a priceless way.

Animals won't speak to you,

won't waste a word or a breath.

You reek of too much reality, they say.

Your logic is terrifying, your practicality can kill us.

Hence you are met with silence.

You are not harmed, but you are not helped.

You are alone. Who will want you?

Maybe the earth is hungry

and will take your flesh and your bones.

Find a quiet space and lay down.

Or find the sea and be swallowed by the waves.

Are you looking for adventure?

A quest?

A fairy tale?

Aren't you a couple of decades too late?

this is what you do.

you go to sleep.

you wash your face to clear the traces of tears.

you brush your teeth to remove the taste of bitter words

spoken out of hunger.

(the answers were never served, there were only empty questions)


you crawl into bed with your favourite book,

the one that has the happy ending you never think will ever happen,

the one that seemed so impossible,

because impossible is what you feel now.

your spirit is frayed.

it has been a very long day.

this is what you do.

you go to sleep.

you walk the words in the book.

you find the magic.

you do the kingdom a favour.

you ask for a boon.


when you wake up

the sunshine will be a certain shade of gold,

and there will be a gift waiting,

somewhere, somehow,

where and when you least expect it,

for that is how it works

3 views0 comments

© 2020 Marichit Garcia. Proudly created with Wix.com.

  • Instagram
  • Twitter
  • Facebook