Episode 21: Untitled.
Knowing when your energy isn’t welcome anymore & actually just walking away… BEING PSYCHIC SUCKS! LEONARD COHEN! STREET POETRY BY KEVIN DEVANEY! SONG TO THE SIREN! MY SPARK HAS BEEN RIPPED OUT AND A BUNCH OF WATER HAS BEEN POORED ON IT! YAY!
EXERPT:
But, I want to love the way love loves.
I do not know what to do with all of these growth edges…
All of this rain…
Like a drowning city.
I want to move the way love moves.
But I also hate women that are only interested because you’re interested.
That… cannot form the word sister with their lips…
And I’ll always bow out and exit stage left.
Or is it stage right?
With my head down.
Reminding myself that to be small is not an offering.
But I’m not here to throw punches in a ring that wasn’t made for me.
What do you use to cut through an open book made of steel.
Pruning sheers?
A backwards baseball cap?
A decade of baggage?
Or maybe its wisdom in the guise of years?
But I am a constellation, I exclaim to the silence.
Empty like a cafe at 5pm on a Monday.
I am so tired of being the bigger woman.
Of being the adult.
The leveling tool left in the basement workshop. Of offering a seat at my table to careless hands.
Play damsel, play victim play unloved teenager,,,
I’ll be here, holding the hearts of the lonely. Praying they find the peace I can’t.
But I want to love the way love loves.
Like the ocean kissing the shoreline,
unconcerned with all that sand.
Flowing over, & in the in-between spaces.
Pulling away when necessary/.
Knowing when the moon beckons me to leave, to leave, to leave, to leave.
My heart met my throat tonight,
And choked down, choked down the words “space for everyone”
And for fucks sake, and of course, and you knew all along.
That what is not meant for you will not want you,
or be.
But in order to be blessed I have to first look for a blessing.
Buried in the riverbed.
Unnoticed.
Untouched by the rising current.
Because all I want is to scream under water.
But there are no mistakes, only lessons.
So what is my lesson,
Life,
Is to short,
To hold on,
Towhatisnotmeant for you.
“Sometimes I think that real love, is knowing when your energy isn’t welcome anymore, and actually just walking away. And just allowing other people to be happy, even when you can’t. Real care, is knowing when something is not meant for you, metaphorically kissing it on the forehead and saying goodbye. And I may have more wisdom than I should for my scarce years, but one of my absolutely toxic traits is that I obsessively overanalyze, and can’t ever seem to let things go. Seems like I remember hearing that was a Scorpio thing. But let’s not blame it on astrology. Let’s blame it on years of sustained abuse and concentrated suffering. Or my addictive personality, or well, imbalance of some kind or another. So for me, love is the act of letting go. Love is in the surrender. It was never meant for me in the first place.”
