Excess

It is not a question of
Whether you were enough
Or not,
Too much,
Or not.

You exceed quantities, beyond
Into questions of
Whether you were fitting,
My self with yours
Or not,
Fits too well,
Or not.

These are questions of relation
Which means there are two
Trying to be one,
Or not.

So question not your worth
For it exceeds my words
And consumes me
To propel me forward,
Or not.

/michal

So What am I Today?

I always feared permanence.
So why, now, the hurt?

I’ll keep writing with my pencil
In notebooks without lines. Facing erasure.
How temporary.
They could burn,
or get lost,
or get stolen
Like their lacking lines
Which were stolen off the page.

I no longer know where, exactly
I am expected to write.
Or how,
Given that it will all change tomorrow.
I can only hope that my change will be directed
Towards my self,
That one I’m supposed to be,
Tomorrow.

/michal

Part 3 of 3: Learning to Heal

Of course I am spinning around
still
in my own little circle, but why
can’t I stop?

I can’t see
the world around me.
It does not keep up with my speed
Like my hands
Which I see clearly (spinning with me).
But the world, a blur.

Let me slow down
And see my reflection
And breathe in sync with her lungs.

I had a small doll once
(With silvery blue hair)
And her hands were sewn together
To make a loop for her knees
To tuck into.
She would sit there and hug herself
And that is all she did.

/michal

An Open Letter to Myself

Dear Self,

Hello again. Sometimes I forget you exist. I know that a brief letter from out of the blue won’t make much of a difference, but it’s a start. Indeed, one letter can be the start – or a restart – of feeling understood and at home. I am writing to you to acknowledge my own absence. I have been away, busy with “external important busy things”… you wouldn’t understand. You’re always so caught up in words and music and being free. I feel like I have to support you all the time, but in doing so, I never get to see you. It’s like a marriage where one of the people is always working so that the other one could be living their dream. Is that what we want?

You always ask so many questions of me, of those around us, and of the world. Can’t you just sit quietly and let things be? I don’t have answers for you. I never did. And I don’t have time to consider them fully. I am working so that our future is logical, safe, and good. Sometimes I think we disagree. Sometimes I think that you would rather be spontaneous than smart, or free rather than grounded.

I try to “be myself.” What does that mean? Am I not you? Are you and I not the same? Can I ever not be “myself”? Here you (I?) go with the questions again.

Take care now,

Michal (me) (you) (us)

to live in hope

‘worthless’
is a heavy brand
to shake off

when i forget it is there
and dive into the waves
for the love of life

it catches me up
like stones in my pockets,
turns my dance of joy
into a suicide mission.

is it enough
to live in hope
that the times between
the moment it slips from me
and its crushing reminder
become incrementally longer? that kicking
and thrashing against
its pact with gravity
might make me

feel, for the moment,
more alive?

/cristina

Numb but Unafraid

I have a story
to tell but no urgency
propels me
towards its completion

and so it will remain
half-whispered, half-exclaimed
flowing yet contained

a dynamic equilibrium
changing all the same.

It does not matter
in a world bursting
at the seams with the imminent
the breaking

do not have time
do not have ears
but the broken

have no fears, they are not
even afraid of waiting,

not anymore.

/cristina