for i cannot lift myself.
speak to me,
for my words are lifeless.
for my own arms have been stolen by other loves.
love is a weary and heavy thing.
butterflies have nothing to do with it.
stones and rocks and fire and mountains fit it better.
and yet you call me into this wilderness water,
this great expanse.
it is no desert,
so why do i feel so dry?
why do my lungs burn and my breaths come out short and quick?
and i have said that love is a travesty,
and you did not rebuke my complaint.
you have always listened,
even when you hated my words.
i demanded more of you,
and still you gave more.
why do i seek this thing called love?
why is my being drawn to even its shadow.
for even in its shadow i am healed.
even in its shadow i see light,
past the edges,
creeping into my heart.
i opened my doors and let the robber in!
i cried out in the streets for love to attack me,
to destroy all that i have and know,
that i might gain one moment in its presence.
dead men die no more deaths,
but a live man dies a thousand.
and who is it that draws the knife and plunges the blade?
it is love,
the very thing i seek,
the very thing that seeks me.
it haunts me in the night,
it stalks me at day.
it terrifies me in my dreams,
fills my thoughts with a wondrous fear.
if i give in,
if i truly cut loose from this anchor,
what will become of my ship?
what will become of me?
what lands might i find?
what storms might come my way?
my sails were made for fairer weather;
love will tear them to shreds.
and what a wild one you are.
you called me a sailor even when i was scared of puddles.
you called me a lover even when i was scared of a smile.
the open sea was meant to be my backyard,
a place i go to play before lunch and after supper.
i wrestle with the waves as i wrestled with my hair,
an energy you gave me giving life to every action.
i am strong.
i am brave.
i am loved.
i can love.
sails are better in pieces anyway.