SELF-PORTRAIT. POEM.
Self-Portrait (Pt. I)
(Here I am, broken and newly reborn.
I’m learning how to be myself amidst a cacophonic peace.)
Now, in this sitting moment
I'm dancing through hallways of the house in my mind
Looking for fluid darkness already flowing inside my own cathedrals
My body is not a temple, it is something much more divine; a breathing organism.
Divinity my cells hold amount to more than my own soul
Do they?
Where is the line drawn between who will become more God than what is incomparable?
But waves reflecting moonlight remind me
I’ve learned enough tonight from moments that do not shine
Beauty is really just pain, realphabetized into an etymology of golden ichor blood over fractures, broken into a ghost of the word "perfect"
And the same could be said for
the house inside my brain I've learned to architecture from dripping dark seething out my pores
The moon taught us all
She always has
Been a reminder, radiance
phasing magnificence
Just like my every wake and wane and window pane and pain and
How everything can become it: -PAIN-
The one thing that will destroy so mercilessly it will amnesia your restful
Make you forget you can pheonix the atom bomb in your heart
Because all I can ever do is wait the moment I will run
3, 2, 1
And GO!
As the strings fire, they ice their way in disguise
To pass through and Trojan Horse the strings so tightly woven vertically across my face
They are unlearning unnecessary tension when all else seems to threaten
I can break through
I know I can
I just need a breaking so graceful you’d think I planned how I’d be reborn, cycle once more
Unwind me! I know the mirror can
He has my same hands to slowly peel my skin
(The same pen as well)
The same feet to get back up onto
I take myself apart like no lover dreamed they could
Undo myself so carefully pieces could be resealed in a single origami-precise sleight of hand
like I was telling myself to stay put this entire time
in my stagnant wholeness
One of the boldest self-surgeries
you have ever fucking seen
I can love myself back into radiance
Back into ease of internal flow
Back into remembering, back into loving my otherness to re-become a shred of divine
Worship is called back into the prayer
As if there were not any divinity before
But I remember all the music after the “Amen”
All the harmony before “Amen-Ra” lost its sun
The sun shone before we ever fucking named it
No-
[-thing, -where]
-name could ever confine me
No syllable or lack thereof could ever define me
No ocean could ever not remind, and {un...| do (you remember what birthed first?)
She. Earth.
She is a home from explosions, universe says.
When will we learn to silence
our own eruptive detonations?
Of external, inter-ternal war
I’m still outpouring all the explosion in myself...
I’m still sitting, dancing in that internal house.
Cathedral body pheonixed into moonlit loose strings
I observe this new lunar self-alchemy, new potential mosaic quilt of my every internal resynthesis
In silence.
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How to knit myself and the world back together at the same time?