The Thing That Leaves As Arduously As It Arrives
Illustration by Honey Simatupang
This year I was lucky enough to experience true love, and unlucky enough to lose it. I had always assumed I could weather a heartbreak, because how hard could that really be? When society convinces you that love is all consuming, when we are essentially love-washed, as in any semblance of joy, affection or attention is equated to ‘love’, true love is actually so distant. For the first time, I found this pain too difficult to transcribe, despite having written poetry previously about some form of heartbreak or other. These poems are not polished, because this is an experience that is too big for words. Think of these as a form of therapy. ♦
love,
love, i hardly expected you. often i looked for you just so i could lose you. so that i could write about the heartbreak, so that pain could be my muse. love, you are fragile, you are sweet and we are quick to turn you away. perhaps in valuing you too much, we don’t value you enough, and we don’t recognise you in your smallest forms. i apologise that i didn’t trust you, and perhaps i faked you at times. i let obsession imitate you , and greed and desire. i fabricated you. you deserve better than that. but, love, i hardly expected you. a fever dream. a bright summer morning with tea sat in the yard. smiles-- warm ones. feeling like a person. i have learnt that valuable love is not just in words. not just in actions like them prepping your toothbrush with paste. love can be silent. love is kindness. love can be distant and can be remote. but love is a knowledge. love is truly nothing without trust. and trust is real happiness. love is a truth. not something you try for, it’s not a condition. love can hurt, despite its effortlessness. and when we can appreciate this truly, only then are we free. loved is learning. love, i hardly expected you.
dismembered
i have lost the arms that held me tight
when the world felt so fragile
i have lost the smile that made the grey skies
feel so tactile
i have my legs but it’s as though
they have lost some of their ability to feel
yes, i still breathe
but the air is so different it takes a lot
of getting used to
i have never wished to feel numb before,
i am unsure of what would be easier.
my heart feels so far away from me
because it may still be hiding in the cracks of your sofa,
my duvet sometimes takes your shape to keep me warm
it knows no other body will do it yet.
when i hear sad songs, it feels like it’s your fingers
playing the keys, although i know
your musical talent is questionable.
it’s like the world is doing everything for me to relive you
to bring you back to life, even though you’re not
dead; just dead in my little world.
yet even the world won’t suffice. it hasn’t mastered
the vibration of your voice,
it’s not yet learnt the connection of your nerves
and joints
and it never will.
and who knows,
you could be detached, dismembered,
or you could feel like me
regardless,
i can still cry with eyes through which i can’t see
how to love again
the day i learnt to stand on my own two feet
i must have been met with so much joy and celebration
she did it! she can hold her own
since then i’ve never gotten an applause
a pat on the back
for carrying all this weight that has accumulated
so when he did, days rejoiced
and i know never to do that again.
how will i love again?
i will do it freely, i will do it knowing
all the love i have for myself first
and always. this earth saw me enter
awoken from eternal slumber
on my lonesome so no other soul
will determine if i love,
myself
again
how much
or ever