Make Art, Not War

Friday, March 18, 2011

W hole

[note: this is not a new poem, it's actually from my teens at least. But I wanted to include it here because poetry is the sort of thing that you can always go back to and look at in different times in your life, and it will continue to be meaningful. Or anyway, that's what I thought when I came across this one.]

W hole

you were some vital organ
gone missing in those early
developmental stages and I
grew and grew accustomed to
the absence
unaware that the damage was to me
just a part of living

so that now I throw my worth down this hole
my whole life and my love
with no intentions of filling it
instead I stumble forward limbless
always looking behind me and wondering
how different things would be
if I had been complete

yes, still waiting to grow out of this
waiting for some correction of its injustice
while all the blame I could rightfully place
echoes all the way to the bottom
(it's the absence of you in me repeating)

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