I’d wake up and go back to who I was
To make sense of everything, to understand
What happened, when, where and why.
I’d end up straight back in the pain, no mere
Memory, as if no time passed, trying to regain
Perspective. Something within me still holds on
To certain things. Sometimes I can’t tell whether
The hands in the marshlands come with good or
Bad intentions.
Do things drown within me? Never to reappear?
Do they all melt away and become one fluid mass?
Do they wander around, rubbing against my skull?
Do they ever get tired and fall asleep?
My mind goes to these places when my body
Is still. When nothing happens. I’d love to
Be able to salute feelings that brought me down
As much as feelings of joy.
Could I even recognise one without the other?
Sometimes my body cannot quite believe
That it’s out of your war zones, mental terror
And verbal abuse. Your voice comes back in echoes.
And I learned not to trust it. Breathe in the peace
That holds my body instead. Whatever I locked away in
The basement would lead me to the torture chamber
Eventually.
And I decided that in order to live with myself
I won’t fight what has already been done
And look both angels and demons in the face, all mine,
Give them all a seat at my table, everyone of us
Committed to the same cause, choosing creativity
Over destruction, light out of darkness.
Croque-Melpomene 