Perhaps the reason I hate myself so much,
                        
                                                                 is not because I am a horrible person..

                        but because I have given my love to everyone else

                                                                                                                     and left none for myself..

living my life in fear
scared of eternal damnation
an eternity in hell for ***
I can’t imagine that

bound to a belief that was forced upon me
refusing my body and my soul the things they crave
living my whole life without actually ever feeling alive
I can’t imagine that

realizing in my last breath that there is nothing beyond the white light
my life dedicated to worship and commitment was for nothing
I took a trust fall into hands that were not there to catch me
I can’t imagine that

perhaps there is a greater energy
not a face, not a faith
a force
I could imagine that

Imagine by John Lennon
Anthem
Song for the soul

It doesn't matter,
We are not who we think we are,
All context is apparent in the physical world,
Our being is defined to others by our presence,
Yet internally we are defined by thought,
This illusion is a manifestation of ours and other's perceptions,
Yet reality is not so virtual,
We are just energy,
Subatomical vibrations in an endless universe,
We are all just a part of the glorious birth,
The universe exists as it was and is now,
That is what matters.

it's okay to want home
when everything is just so foreign

I don't expect my poems to be on trending,
nor to receive praises
I just want to express
all the stress
life gave me

fireworks sparkle
the darkened sky of my memory,
sparkling through my soul in a pleasant wave,
uncovering a walk in the jungle of my heartland

and a guava tree.

I’m in my kitchen, filling my nose
with the delicate scent of ripening guavas from Mexico,
palmed in the chalice of my hands,
feeling my way to that jungle walk with my family when I was three
or maybe two, in Hawai’i

and the guava tree.

as I bite through the fragile skin of the yellow globe,
the seeds, like BBs, take me further into my remembrance,
my family around me sharing
the excitement and joy I felt when I saw and climbed

the guava tree.

after we moved back to the Mainland
to a desert paradise I also loved,
each Spring I came down with what I called my Island Virus:
a deep yearning and homesickness
for my heartland

and the guava tree.


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater