ROOTS & KINDNESS
Looking for the root cause; of it all.
Not looking for applause; Not At all. Not at all .
Can I keep it real;Where do I start...
Heavy it’s heavy for real;
I have this anger in my heart.
Heavy soul. But I’m grinding.
Humanity is dying;
Everywhere I look I see excuses.
Humanity I’m trying; but
Kindness; I see everyone so clueless...
Silver lining in the cloud but not yet
A plant grows when it’s needs are met.
The world halted to a stop arent you curious?
Everything closed Damn the virus that serious?
Where do the homeless people go
Where do we shower now the gyms close
City on lock it’s insain though.
People inside until trump says so
Random acts of kindness save someone’s life
People Before judging someone please think twice.
It’s not always rainbows and butterflies
-ELAye
About the Creator
THE GARDEN
Welcome to the garden; a plethora of
Poetry,
dreams,
Fantasy,
memoirs,
exclusive interviews,
autobiographies,
cloud thoughts,
authentic experiences.
In order to protect others privacy most names have been changed.
Sincerely,
ELaye French
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Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanova6 days ago in Poets
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