Home is where the heart is, but where is my heart?


Home is where the heart is, but where is my heart?
Not here, but far, far away.
Somehow a large part of me seems convinced that you are home.
Have you not given me back my heart yet?

Sometimes that feeling comes back still– that confident, reassured feeling. That I have faith feeling. When I’m sure that we’ll get back together, I know you’ll come back to me. Just because. Because there’s no other possible possibility, because I can’t imagine it being any other way.

It doesn’t matter how desperately i try to tell myself how delusional I’m being, I don’t buy it. It’s not even an antagonistic feeling, like Ha! Call me delusional, I’ll show you! It’s completely calm and detached. It truly does not care that you think it’s delusional, it truly does is not affected by what you say or think, because what you say or think  has no consequence on its truth value. It knows. It has faith.

No wonder religions still exist; nothing you say or do has effect. My faith is unshakable. I believe, because. If even I cannot convince myself, what more other people?

Somehow a significant part of me is (still) convinced that you are home. Are you my home?
Somehow a significant part of me is (still) convinced that you will come back. Will you?

I guess we’ll find out soon enough.
If that part is wrong, I’m not sure what I’d have to do to hammer that truth home to myself. Emotion speaks louder than intellect.

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Ripped Heart


Sudden, unexpected, violent–
All that’s left, a gapping hole.
The magnificent tree that had been seeded
that had taken root
that had been growing beautifully
under tender loving care
unceremoniously uprooted.

By what? who? where? how? why?
In shock and reeling from injuries
can only stare.
Stare and stare at where it used to be
as the wounded heart bleeds.

Reaching out frantically–
Where is it?
Just a mistake. A wayward wind, maybe.
Wrecking unintentional havoc.
A trial to be overcome.
Re-plant the tree, quick!
Put it back where it was, fill up that hole, tis not too late.
It’ll recover, and be stronger from this.

The tree… is gone.
Twas not a wayward wind.
I see that now.
Twas a deliberate act.
To rip, to hack, to chop, to destroy.
There’s no hope left for it.

Well, maybe– start again?
Here’s a seed from the beloved tree.
Should I place it in the hole?
Start a new chapter of the same book?
It’ll be good–mistakes made with the previous tree won’t be repeated.
It’ll outshine it’s predecessor.

The seed’s… not growing.
It’s not receiving the love or care it needs–
or perhaps it was a bad seed from the start.
Bad trees bear bad fruits which give us…
dead seeds. Not worth the time.

The gapping hole stares back.
Blacker, bigger
each time you look.
The edges harden–or are they healing?
No, they turn black from poison.

The darkest, roughest parts
are those in contact with the roots of the missing tree.
Once full of life and joy,
now only death.

It’ll be a slow and painful
but necessary process
to weed out every single last tendril
deeply entrenched and entangled
in the soil of the heart.

Great care is required
to not cause more damage
to let the heart heal
to extricate
every
last
memory

and send it the way of the obliterated tree.

(How inconsiderate
to take the tree but leave the troublesome roots.
Leave it there to develop and flourish
else don’t even start to grow it at all.)

My Rainbow Heart


My rainbow heart
Where have you gone?
I haven’t felt you
For so very long

I miss your laughter
I miss your smiles
I haven’t had that
For quite a while

I miss your prancing
Your joyful songs
Your silly banter
Your stringing along

I miss your optimism
Your idealistic hope
That all will be better
There’s no end of the rope

I miss your contentment
Your inner peace
Your love for the world
Your desire to please

I miss your appreciation
For the simple and small
To not hold grudges
To let go and trust all

My rainbow heart
Is that you hiding?
I think I see you;
You’re almost in reach.
My rainbow heart
I know you’re hurting
You don’t like pain
But pain, too, has lessons to teach.

Dear rainbow heart
Please come back stronger
Please don’t get tarnished
and come sooner, not later.

I need you.

 Other hearts: Black Heart and Pink Heart

Unconditional Love


I love you
No matter what you say or do.
I love you
Even if you don’t want to receive it.

Your love is not mine to have,
not mine to demand or pled or beg for.
Your attentions are not mine to vie for
to capture and hold down.
Your actions aren’t mine to control,
Your decisions aren’t mine to make.
Even your heart was never mine,
and you were never mine either.

These things aren’t for possessing.
These things can’t be possessed.
If you feel otherwise, it is but an illusion,
That will be shattered eventually.

These things,
They are meant for giving.

Like a song sung,
A poem, or dance,
Or a breeze felt,
Or even the sun on your skin.
Given freely
For you to receive, enjoy,
appreciate, cherish

but not to possess.

My love is mine to give
And I hope I’ll give it freely
My love is mine to give
and you can’t take that away from me.

Venom


Black Heart ATC

Venomous thoughts and poisonous words;
Whom do they prick? Who do they hurt?

“All of you can go fuck yourselves!”
I’m sick of being shot down.
I hate you, I think to myself,
Black anger swirls round and round.

An armour of self protection
from the crap the world can dish out.
Or a more sinister infection?
Could you say, without a doubt?

Stone walls built around you heart
Shield attacks of knives and arrows.
They keep out, keep in or keep apart.
Suffocate prisoners in the gallows.

In my anger,
black venom flows
tendrils worming
into deeper hold

Thorns protruding
A slow rage burns
Which direction?
Yet to learn.

A hardened heart’s no good for joy,
or happiness, laughter or smiles
Soften your heart, that’s the right ploy
Choose love, it’ll be worthwhile.

Yet how many times can you keep turning
the other cheek before it gets sore?
How many times can you keep enduring
getting stabbed and shot once more?

With desire to hurt, hate lashes out
Being angy makes me feel better
But should I be crying “demons, out!”
Rather than indulge in this behaviour?

Venomous wallowing in poisonous muck
Right now I can’t seem to help but do.
In letting them fester, breed and grow
Do I hurt me more than you?