While you

Image

http://suzi9mm.deviantart.com/art/free-33750464

While you

While you were growing me,
the thick and idle water
was a good enough cement,
the dead branch discipline
a cheap artist
that does not question but
lives the strokes,
my skin still a soft fabric
sewn into a gospel
for your way.

While you were raising me,
more and more springs
embroiled themselves
upon my chest
and each passing March
was teaching me
how the air is free
but breathing comes
with a price
paid in irretrievable days
and it was easier
to handle
the open-heart surgery
of my becoming
by killing me
and making me a mannequin;
crafted in your belief,
with a better smile,
with different eyes
and with no desire
to dispute the blood.

While you were withering,
the bruise on my soul
was your ambrosia,
the ailment for your regret,
my thoughts mown nettle
to feed the cattle
and you wondered
why my arms were wood
and would not embrace,
would not hold,
would not give love.
I have met Death face to face,
blade to vein,
reflected in the stew
served at Sunday lunches,
brewed with duty
and force-fed
in an attempt
to glorify my desecration
and keep it alive.

While you are wandering
you search for me
inside the pulsing wreckage
and each knot you tie
on the rope of my noose
yet I no longer dangle
above the need
to have mercy
for anything
that is not ardor
and purity.

As same as we are broken
we will ache different
in our final hours;
You raised me well.

*This is a very personal piece and as such I hope the images and sentiments of it will serve whoever reads this as something positive, that you dear reader will not bask in the darkness of it, but recognise the light of opportunity that shines to be yourself and be completely free.

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~ by Oloriel on July 25, 2013.

62 Responses to “While you”

  1. That’s a beautiful piece, I love it… πŸ™‚

  2. Ozbiljna pesma, opasno dobro napisana, a citao sam i predjasnje i mogu ti reci da bolje pises od nekih “engleza” koje poznajem (sa tog govornog podrucja), bas ti se divim! Moje subjektivno misljenje, svakako, ali je moje! πŸ˜€

  3. Stellar.

  4. Despite your disclaimer at the end it is hard to take this any other way than the way it is felt when reading it. Parents do not need to pass a test before becoming parents. If they did some of us would have been much better off.>KB

    • I wish for people to know and see from these words that it takes more then just a strand of DNA to be someone’s parents and that there is no duty to Hell, only to Love.
      Thank you for reading and sharing a moment with me, I do regard it as very precious.

  5. That was incredibly intense. I loved the lines “my thoughts mown nettle
    to feed the cattle” — not only for imagery, but for the delicious language!

    • While I am trying to work on our project, well known parasitic worms come for a fresh taste of my blood. Wish years gave me either deafness or a tougher skin, yet I do as well feel blessed in how I grew myself, alone πŸ™‚ Rambling, I know, but I must say reading John’s missadventures really lifted my mood πŸ˜€

  6. Beautiful….I empathize with the personal touch of each stroke your fingers painted here….my breath was suspended as I felt the words…
    Take Care…You Matter…
    )0(

  7. Stunning, just beautiful. Very maternal. It feels a little sad, but good sad, if that makes sense…

    “how the air is free
    but breathing comes
    with a price
    paid in irretrievable days”

    I love this line! Bloody brilliant! Thanks for sharing this with us, Oloriel.

  8. reflective
    ~
    small brushstrokes dance
    mimicking moons
    dotting
    dark water

  9. Very moving poem. Loved the flow. Well done, my friend.

  10. Wow!
    This is intense: I am going to need to read it at least another two times to get all of the sense out of it; love it when poetry grabs me by the throat and makes me think like this one does.

  11. I applaud you for sharing something so intensely personal in such a public sphere. I find myself feeling greedy when posting on my blog. The poetry I put up is what comes to me spontaneously; typically as a result of reading something inspirational on someone else’s blog. Truly strange that for me those creative juices just f-l-o-w after reading the words of others- that never used to be the case for me. (I always used to say that I don’t like anyone’s poetry but my own- with Anne Sexton and Joy Harjo being the only exceptions.) But these days it seems like the words of others create some kind of trigger in my brain. Words, feelings just come to me out of seemingly nowhere, so I put them out there for others to share if they will. Yet, as I said, I am greedy. My most precious poems are the most personal ones. Like this one you have written, I have poems that were born in blood and tears and memories and the roots of the family tree. I horde these poems, too possessive to share them with just anyone, and so they go unread year after year after year. Thank you for your generosity, and for your bravery. It takes guts and a dedication to healing and self-expression to let the blade glint in the sun and the sorrow spring from its razor edge.

    • I believe the sharing comes at it’s own time. I used to hide most of stuff I write like this, but I kept feeling guilty about it, because I thought someone might read it and find whatever he or she needed to leave the hell they are living in. Thank you very much for your comment, it brings me great joy to be given an oportunity to converse with others like this.

  12. I don’t know if you can access youtube videos in Belgrade, but if you can perhaps you will appreciate this reading by Joy Harjo. I believe you will appreciate this. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WI9Irzfb73w Joy Harjo is one of those people who live their art, loud and proud, with heart and the courage to speak the truth.

  13. Oloriel, this so speaks to me! I can live inside this experience, and I am trying to see the light through the cracks. I really love these lines the most:
    “but breathing comes
    with a price
    paid in irretrievable days”

    Thank you for this. M

    • I truly hope that some day soon that light will engulf everything! Thank you for taking time to leave a word to me, means a lot!

  14. This is so beautiful… you are such a beautiful person! πŸ™‚

  15. Oh this is so beautiful and so heart-breaking I can definitely feel your soul in the words. I find these types of poems very hard to write as I am a little bottled up emotionally. I applaud you

    • During my liberation proces of writing something as personal as this ( as well as speaking itm outloud) I can assure you there was no eloquence nor strenght in my words, or peace and numbness; the only things I could muster and scribble down in secrecy were words of desperation, hate and goodbye letters. But it is this secrecy that was making my whole existance, as myself, unreal and first tsep towards being free was publicly, loudly speaking out.
      I understand the bottled part, I really do, because not like I am an open book and my tormenting demons are always fully visible and seated at the table. This comes from how society today is. There is very few people who will actually try to help you and hearing that something that scared you for life is “Not a big deal and suck it up” is not easy and it is not fair. We are all alone, and we alone need to take a step forward. I just don’t want you to feel ashamed if you still bottled up with your memories and emotions still πŸ™‚

      • I can definitely relate to feeling unreal, I remember quite a lot from my childhood (though I do think I am missing some of the earlier memories but with Epilepsy my memory is shit and I can’t tell what I am repressing and what is just misplaced because of my illness). As I remember some pretty disturbing stuff I wonder if what I don’t recall is even worse or if I just can’t access it. My short-term memory is horrifyingly bad. I am pretty open when asked if I know the answer, I don’t have good social skills so I never know what is actually too personal so I either over or under share lol but it takes me a long time to understand my feelings. I feel them intensely so I don’t paste a smile/bandaid on top but it is for me like a swirling mass of chaos. Just sheer chaos it takes me a while to translate those abstraction into a concrete language. I am slow in general. I am that person who hours after a conversation has ended suddenly knows what I want to say lol That is why I like online friendships because I can take my time, I don’t have someone staring at me/waving a hand in front of my face. I wish I could get a brain transplant or at least a functional one. I have no idea where mental illness begins and Epilepsy begins. If I didn’t have Epilepsy what one earth would I be like? I am not sure, when I don’t have seizures (rarely happens but I once in a while I get a break) I don’t recognize myself I am so ambitious, productive, happy, and confident it is so bizarre, I would never think that was me since I mostly see the grumpy, confused, incompetent person walking around like ghost. I haven’t found a therapist willing to work with me because the Epilepsy untreated like this complicates everything I think I might need a Neuropsychologist or something. I am here if you ever want to talk to someone when you feel alone =)

      • This reminded me of one time when I completely broke down and my husband could not understand why and he thought and tried to consult me only to reach to a conclusion that the feeling of bliss and happiness is completely foreign to me, when I am happy it is as tho I am not myself and I completely do not know how to flow with it and enjoy it.
        Reading your writing I as well wish that I was stronger, I am ashamed that compared to you, my pain still unbeliveably hurts me.
        The talk invite is mutual, if you ever thought you have no one to tell your ramblings, fears or just a mummble of weak words aching for strenght, well, you do, I am here πŸ™‚

      • I know when I read about other people’s traumas I always think what I experienced growing up/current struggles is trivial in comparison. I hate seeing other people suffer that to me is worse than anything that is one reason I am so grateful I didn’t have siblings. I think it is also why I blocked out a period of life with a babysitter whose children showed signs of abuse. I remember the signs because I was abused myself but then there is this huge blank. That is one area where I think I may have repressed rather than it being a memory problem. I think with my own pain there is so much guilt, I blame myself, I don’t sympathize well with myself. I am not really sure what happiness looks like either, the genuine sort or what a mentally healthy person actually looks like in their private lives (how do they feel? I am so curious). Thank you so much!

      • The new prompt is up =)

  16. One can tell that its such a personal piece. It has no loud drama or hasty emotion of storm, but its such a sad one, it makes me want to drop everything im doing and give you a hug. Or bake you a cake. Im silly that way sometimes.
    You evoke thoughts. Emotions. Reaction. Thats a proof of being a brilliant writer.

    • That is not silly, that is very beautiful of you and it is just what I needed yesterday. I wish as well to do the same for you and I can make a mean cake πŸ˜€

  17. The way you write is superhuman… this is just great.. πŸ™‚

  18. What makes a good poem if not giving as much as you can give/uncover from inside of you. The rest is ability to set the words into the music. Really nice.

  19. Oloriel, i needed time to digest this piece as i often do with your poems. i admire your courage sharing your pain with us and tho, so much of this is extremely personal, i did find much that resonated.

    as you know, i’ve written a few of these catharsis poems, and shared many of the same fears you’ve expressed as well. i hope there comes a place of liberation, of throwing off the shroud, of some eventual reconciliation, as happened with me after writing and sharing.

    {{{ h u g s }}} to you Oloriel

    • Thank you for your words, friend. It is in the resonating that I hope people who read will find the strenght to walk away.
      Fortunately, for my own well being, these ties I describe will never get mended. There is only as much attempts of murder on my life and my families that I can forgive and forget. When those who by blood are your family wish openly to you that your child is born dead (and these are literal words) there is not mcuh I can do but close my eyes and walk away. I know you have felt the same pain in your heart and I know you know how hurtful it is when it drags behind you day by day and sometimes wraps around your neck to choke you. But we need to stand and we need to not forgive things that are done in malice, not love.

  20. Stunning

  21. Pure awesomeness all around. I loved it.

  22. I feel your pain, your soul and your hope in this piece. Beautiful and exceeding sad. Although the that time, that innocence is irretrievable we have not only survived but have hope off becoming stronger and better each passing day. And I guarantee we are better than “they” with one hand tied behind our backs. πŸ™‚ Hugs

    • Thank you very much for reading and sharing those words of encouragement, even tho we are most fo the times aware of this, sometimes we need a little bit of light to shine down on us and remind us and thank you for generously being that light for me πŸ™‚

  23. Hi Oloriel – just making a return visit after you popped by my page. And really glad to be reading your work. Wow – your images are wonderfully evocative. I shall definitely be reading more.

  24. I was thinking if this is old written or new, years fly by…

  25. This epic poem, and that is what it is, resonates loudly with angst. But, it also sends the reader a very strong message about how a person can overcome very obstacles and retain their own individuality.

    Talia

    • Yes, it is all about finding your voice, your path, your song and using it, walking it, singing it – despite ANYONE or ANYTHING!
      Thank you very much for visiting and leaving me a word of your own!

  26. ‘while you’ surpasses all! tells the story, mine, yours, many.
    an artist with a dead branch trying to paint himself, herself over and over again without mercy for the trapped canvas.

    and the third verse has me crying.

    your soul writes beautifully.

    • Tes, unfortunately,this is the story of many, but I am hoping all of our stories will transpire into those of growth, change and sunshine! Thank you very much for your kind words.

  27. This is a really powerful piece with terrific use of language.

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