She says to flow, to let go
man, oh, man do I already know.
Hope, i’ve always said
is acknowledgment of what’s already dead
a lie inside our head —
“I don’t have it yet” is how it’s read.
… love yourself instead
is what She says.
How much more flow do you want from me?
Dancing and moving and writing poetry,
I scream at the moon, spin fire by the sea,
breathe and bleed and sweat femininity —
my entire life is a testament to authenticity
… so where the fuck is he?
I did this, chose this myself, chose actually, myself. Chose to go in search of a happily ever after where passion meets stability, where connection never fades and lasting love abides inside our hearts … and, since then, I have been drowning in the dark.
Loving myself comes easily, and these four years of self rediscovery have only amplified my own divinity. I romance myself, buy myself what I want, raise my child exactly how I choose, wear things that show off the tattoos and body – temple – I so love, write poetry, lead my own social good dream business, practice yoga and meditate every single day.
I’ve learned that I can hike 10 mountains at a time. Ride a bike 300 miles in a month. Say no to everything and everyone that doesn’t suit me. Light my life on fire and make my own dreams come true.
But I can’t be my own partner. I can’t hold me at night, come home to me and have dinner as a family, build a partnered future, experience the transcendent bliss of shared kundalini life force orgasmically releasing in perfect dichotomy balance … and every single thing “they” say I must do to bring this into my life I have devoutly done and embodied (and enjoyed!) for four fucking years.
Not that just anyone will do. Admittedly, I’ve said no a lot more than I’ve said “yes, let’s try it.” But the no makes room for the yes.
I’m extraordinary, I’m a LOT, I’m brimming with muchness and magic. Too powerful, too strong, too independent is what the “coaches” would say. “Drop your masculine shield,” they’d say.
HA HA HA. I would reply, because fuck you for not being powerful enough to meet me where I’m at. My arms and heart are tired … this shield is heavy. I learned the hard way that nobody is coming to save me.
Where is he, the One who will become the very shield that I no longer carry?
I can love me better than any man who ever tried … but I can’t love me as well as the one who hasn’t yet arrived.