Today, I helped my mother with her garden. I made the earth soft, I placed the seeds carefully, I added a little bit of the nutrient-rich soil. I tried to place the seeds upright in the ground. I’ve never done this before. When I ask her how I’m doing, she says I’m doing good. She says I plant them so carefully.
My wrists and back haven’t been doing very well these past few days, but I know that if I let her, my mother will sacrifice her entire body to her flowers. She’ll offer her exposed skin to the sun and her aching joints to the earth. Her muscles will cry and the tears make the earth richer.
The doctor said she needs to rest. Her knees, the bad arm, her back.
My body hurts sometimes, but all I have to do is stretch and rest and it goes away.
I have to plant the bell pepper seeds.
I have to sacrifice my own body to the sun, to the earth and the flowers. It is a duty to the selfishness of giving. I must because I want to.
What would I do if I saw you weep again? How could I bear to see anything keep you from joy for a even a single moment?
How incredible to see you after all of the sorrow. You touch the earth, you plant the seed. Every morning I walk outside to look at the flowers with you.
And this is my dark soil. This is my water.
I wake up. I see her dutifully tending to her garden. I put on my shoes.
I am the flower blooming with the love of a mother.
I thought I was a desert, but the chaos of my longing was water.
Water, and water, and more water.
It pained me to say it before, but now it is simply a fact—Sweetest darlings, I drowned you away from me.
actuallyautistic autistic trauma longing
Sword with the hilt of gold.
Always muse of mine.
I would hold you in my hands. I would let you burn me sweetly.
Sweetly, in all your darkness, in all your secrets.
I would hold your face to tame your Violence,
And love you when I could not.
Especially when I could not-- So magnificent a creature you’d be,
In all your Rage, Unbound and Roaring.
Red Hibiscus, Cherry Blossom-loved.
How sweet the dream of you.
How sweet your loving,
How sweet my ache.
O Wolf, Ember Ephemera.
I touched you with my finger, and the ghost of you still burns.
The bow scratches the string at the start of the note,
And in the cry of a violin is where I find you today.
There is love in your breath
When you speak to me—
But oh, when I look at your mouth,
It is there behind your teeth;
And you clench your jaw so that none of its legs peek out.
Will you tell it to me?
Will you tell it to me like a story—
The dark thing that hides in you, amongst the wind-kissed fields of your love?
secrets love darkness
“I need to get ahold of myself” I say, scolding myself for wanting (and forgetting what I’m needing).
The warmth of your arm.
The love of a friend.
I am confused in my needing, my yearning;
I have dreamt of being on the floor, and you offering your arm to me.
Yes, how whole it must feel, to be cared for with love.
How warm it is in my dream.
longing yearning friendship warmth affection love
It gives me so much joy, to look at you.
Sometimes it’s too much, and I worry.
Is it okay?
Is it okay to feel this much joy?
Is it joy?
I don’t dream of you like that anymore.
but if I did, what would you say?
I imagine it.
I breathe. I smile. I know it isn’t for me.
The day is still bright.
And my longing;
I hold the Christ in my hands
And offer it to you.
love offering longing lover