Author’s Note: Someone in my life Here wants me to travel several hours during a pandemic, because it’s my birthday Thursday. My refusal has apparently started a shitstorm. This poem is processing.
I feel my lungs
crack, even though
I am not sick
has never been stronger
for the day of my birth
you wish for me
This is for a pop culture “deity” [in quotes because he dislikes being called that, but it’s the best term without explaining an entire huge book series] who’s recently come into my life.
Take the burdens of years,
harden your heart, until
regret swallows you.
Oh Blacked Winged Lord,
now is the quiet time in my Darkness,
even now things are fallow.
On dragon wings you fly,
forgetting not the past, but later
sacrificing all, so that your Dark could return.
One story, I was told, among many; one
road you walk, when your sword took your soul.
Rise with your world’s broken moon,
on a Throne of Sorrow you sit, resisting apathy
which you hope to take your people beyond.
You take my pain, my Heart,
and weave it into warmth, into
something I can cradle, and care for.
Do you mean *all* your pain, or what?
Being Shield Anvil brings up…complex ideas
imagery I can’t quite articulate, of forges and fire.
Not all my pain, dear one, but rather…
you’re someone I can be blind around,
and you will not judge me; you will catch me
when I fall
Hand in hand, we walk
the darkness of snapped retinas
and eyes unseeing due to fire.
“There’s a step up,” or “here’s a railing,”
our words guide each other
in more ways than one.
Maybe getting pop
culture god pings, and why is
it always death gods???
You are Light in Darkness, and
even if you are not at my side,
the light of your moon is always there.
I tried to leave this life and world behind.
I tried to slip out of the doorway
of this life, since someone else had
taken over, and found myself in Darkness.
“Go back” where the words that met
my ears, “you need to live, on Earth.”
I am angry, Beloved, that you turned me away,
and I am remorseful, that I tried to leave, and
you are correct, in the question you asked me:
What is it about your life you hate so much?
I go from shock, to grief, to anger; it is not
one thing that makes me hate this world and life;
the pain lies in being taught to hate it from childhood.
Your Mother made you immortal
Lady of Harvests, of Life and Death.
You watch over the Wilds, and at the end
of Winter you slip away to your Home
in the Underworld, and wait for the Autumn
for the leaves to turn, and for you to Rise once again.
My astral dreams are back,
dreams of meetings and Alliances
long discussions over coffee and paperwork
of what we all gain from this political Work.
These dreams are quiet, but still tiring,
I hope my Beloveds and I can relax soon.
“Here’s your new meds,”
but you didn’t tell me
how much it costs, or
that there’s a long list of side effects
and these are including death.
I’m not schizophrenic, so
why are you still putting me
on anti psychotics?