"cerwin" poems
"his state struck me in comparison as isolation, loneliness. But solitude is different, and female solitude, when it is truly chosen, can be blissful."
~Cerwin Dovey
So now I am carving and clawing
Into myself.
Initially it is painful
I am breaking myself
Slicing through my own flesh
Cracking open my rib cage
In an attempt to find this place
where I can be alone
comfortable
and blissful
in solitude.
It is a chaotic effort
as I dissect each part of my self
examining my interior with the utmost attention
as I try to become familiar with each pulsing vein
each cell contained
memorizing every piece
Abhorrent or admirable
I attempt to become
familiar
with each flaw
and each virtue
loving them the way I would
if they were contained
elsewhere.
The way I love each sparkle
or scar
in a lover
or a friend.
I am listening intently
to every conversation
with myself:
my own, lone audience.
I must become intimately acquainted
intoxicated
with my own thoughts
my sole company
so that I may eventually crawl
into the cavern of myself.
Safe within the walls of this skin.
The bars of my rib cage.
The pulse of blood through my heart.
The absolute
bliss
of this chosen solitude.
j.e.puckett
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 3:12 AM UTC