I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not touch you
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
And it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth
As all things are filled with my soul
You emerge from the things
Filled with my soul
You are like my soul
A butterfly of dream
And you are like the word: Melancholy
I like for you to be still
And you seem far away
It sounds as though you are lamenting
A butterfly cooing like a dove
And you hear me from far away
And my voice does not reach you
Let me come to be still in your silence
And let me talk to you with your silence
That is bright as a lamp
Simple, as a ring
You are like the night
With its stillness and constellations
Your silence is that of a star
As remote and candid
I like for you to be still
It is as though you are absent
Distant and full of sorrow
So you would've died
One word then, One smile is enough
And I'm happy;
Happy that it's not true
So I have a poem and a song for today. And a question – what’s a day without a question – is why some of us who are usually happy with so little are is Cassandra’s shoes of sorts, and often are refused our little gesture of attention, our stardust, our drug, … validation.
I got my little gem of acknowledgement yesterday and let me tell you, it will be good enough for a long, long time now. I never gave grounds to “if you just give in with her, she will want more with each passing day”. May I wish for this Christmas for it all to change… to not be judged for what others do… to not have to prove I am not this and that, I’m not “them”… the mission, mine and yours, is to bring the awesomeness, not to prove that we are awesome. In control. Better. Independent. Smarty.
I sure am none of those things. I want to be free to say: they never mattered much.
