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Ariel Taverner Mar 2017
Strike Gently on these Anvil-lips of mine, my Love.
For I am not an easy metal to craft.

Strike my lips with intent, my Love.
For the soul of my being is fickle and difficult to grasp.

Be Gentle with my lips, my Love.
For the belong to you,
Yet be cautious of them
For they are not to be as jewels; put on display in your possession.

Be soft with my lips, my Love.
For they will not respond truly to the brutal touch of pure lust.

Be passionate with my lips, my Love.
For my soul is broken and earns to be reminded of beauty.

Be yourself with my lips, my Love.
For they enjoy the thrill-ride to being broken.
Be True to my lips Love.....
For their addiction to idealism has left me brokem before.....

Be Cold to my lips, my Love.
For my confidence is shattered and my insecurity demands incentive.  

Be kind to my lips, my Love.
For they may have accumulated frost in the absence of yours.


Be wary of my lips, my Love..
For they may wound you still!
Be understanding of them, Love...
For they love yours






Strike Gently on these fragile lips of mine, my Love....
For they seek to be your Anvil
First poem of 2017.
Jonas  Jun 2023
Parentification
Jonas Jun 2023
Mom,
you taught me
taught me by example.

To be your honest and most authentic self.
Which made it hard for me to be myself.
I didn't know who I was anyway.
But now I see you are holding yourself back for me,
holding back the questions that must be killing you,
to ask,
"Are you okay, is my child happy?"
The fears of getting left (again), of being unworthy of love.
The fear you inherited, as did I.
Did you fail everyone?
Are you here with me listening, or is your head back in your mothers kitchen?
You have to fight for every word from me.

You taught me to hone my perception, to watch, to listen, to learn
To appreciate living life which always seemed the most beautiful to you,
no matter your circumstances.
You saw things in the sun, the flowers and the birds,
the way clouds shape forms and the wind dances in the trees.
Life was always worth living to you, without question.

So now I notice the tears in your eyes everytime we meet.
I notice how you dress up prettier than to any date you ever went to in the past, just for me.
That you wear the little black bracelet I gifted you to your birthday on a wimp, picked up fom a market stand, passing by ages ago.
It doesn't really go with much,

I notice that you have to swallow your pride and
practically beg for my time, a glipse of my life
chase me, drive me into a corner so I can't evade you
Just so I can keep mine.
It hurts me too to see.

I can't give you what you want,
You hurt me growing up, helped mess me up,
triyng to help
I've always been lonely, always alone, isolation became comfort.
I needed a mother. Someone to take care of me, guide me, force me.
Yes, fight me cause I was the enemey. And I was fierce.
But you couldn't. You were still looking for answers yourself.

I couldn't wait for you to finally find them.
I had to go on, go through without you, build my own stability.
So I build many walls brick on brick, and I stacked high.
Even more between us, thicker than blood.
Because a mothers word is like a sledge hammer.
It breaks through wether you like it or not.
Always hits home, my neglected, angry, lost, little heart.
The world always seemed to much for me.

Yesterday a friend held me and didn't let go, let me escape,
Another let me rest in her lap and went through my hair.
The last time I had that and accepted it...
I can't remember
It's already hard to allow myself peace, worse even love,
but almost impossible to ask for it.

I'm slowly healing now, dancing through streets,
singing along to music so the neighbours can hear
Being my most authentic self without any forcing or faking.
Bringing out my innocent, cheeky childlike side to the light.
A honest smile without hiding the sadness in my eyes.
Trying to be brave to try and evantually fail again.
To walk the world and not look down, nor avert my gaze,
run and hide away.

I'm meeting people who support me, encourage me, push me.
Ther are so few of them, who care.
Maybe to few.
I'm still not very good at it. But it's getting better.

Opening up would still mean breaking my heart and yours too
it would mean hurting you, bringing you to tears again.
I don't want that.
You've been hurt enough, I've hurt you enough.

I can't take care of you. I can hardly do so for myself.
I'm still unable to cry for myself. Even when I try to push it.
I don't think things will ever be okay. I don't think we will ever have a family. That's not brokem.
But that's okay.

Honestly I don't think I really want to be fine.
I don't want to be fixed.
It's a part of me. This is me.
It has been for such a long time, I wouldn't know what to do without it.
It is my strenght and my weakness, my anchor and the strom.
My cage that I'm trapped in. Locked from the inside.
It feels safer here. I get to be in control for the most part.

I'm sorry mom,
I'm trying.
But some things can't be undone. Some things stay broken.
It's in the cracks where I  can find the most beauty in life.

— The End —