I am no longer the caterpillar, but part of me misses the slow inching to life I was able to do.
I have waited for this day for so long, and yet I sit here crying knowing I will never get this feeling again.
And knowing that this is the end of a chapter for me in my life but mourning it,
how can I feel such conflicting things?
The bliss of knowing I will no longer have to be tormented by this nightmare,
but begging to have a restart.
Now I must spread my wings and hope I can fly, even though I don't think I am ready to go just yet.
The phantom feeling of the inching through life will always be there and I shall carry those memories,
but I will miss the slowness of life.
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Angel Adagio
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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 Bogdanovaabout 8 hours ago in Poets
The Lesions of Devotion
Every day I set myself down on the freshly cut lawn and strip myself bare. I take my guitar and finger the frets and pick at the strings, listening for dissonance. My life is dissonance. I twist the tuning pegs until each string sounds bright. Then I kneel, calves pointing behind me, kneecaps facing forward. All exposed to the breeze. I close my eyes and play the melody.
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Comments (3)
Sometimes, I do feel that same way. It's nice to know I'm not alone
Does this poem mean 'fear of change' to become a beautiful butterfly, a caterpillar has to go through a process and perhaps suffering:(
Your poem truly captivated me from the very beginning with its delicate imagery and evocative language. The way you painted the transformation of the butterfly, from its humble beginnings to its graceful flight, was both mesmerizing and deeply moving. Your ability to convey such profound themes of growth, resilience, and beauty in just a few verses is truly commendable. Moreover, your poetic craftsmanship shines through in every line, showcasing your mastery of language and rhythm. The imagery you conjure, from the fluttering wings to the whispered secrets of nature, creates a vivid and enchanting world for the reader to explore. I found "Butterfly" to be not only a delight to read but also a poignant reminder of the beauty and wonder that surrounds us in the natural world. Your poem touched my heart and left a lasting impression, and for that, I am truly grateful. Thank you for sharing your talent and creativity with the world through your writing. I look forward to reading more of your work in the future. Best Regards, Dr. Jay