Note: I recently came across this poem that I wrote in late 2016 or early 2017. Comparing it to my newer poems, I can’t help but notice how much my work has improved. This reads more like spoken word than poetry. Hopefully, you’ll still enjoy its innate message.
I have left it unedited, because it is a snapshot into a younger, less developed me. A version of me who was much less in touch with my emotions and values.
She was a storm.
She was a tempest, her every word and deed lashing against me with all the power of an angry sea.
She was nature herself, the unbridled expression of every feminine divinity unleashed.
And she was in before I knew it.
Without any warning.
My walls crumbled before her onslaught, for no wall can stand against the wrath of a divinity.
My defenses shattered and I lay there, weak and helpless and in the grip of a horrifying and all-encompassing terror.
Every wall, every fence, every thought that I had wreathed myself in was thrust aside in an instant.
She thought she broke in front of me but, unknowingly, she broke me.
What was this? Me, vulnerable?
My vulnerability shocked me – so long had I been cocooned in the shell of my own numbness.
And then I realized.
She was light.
She was ambrosia in a world of bland bread. She was color in a greyscale world. She was a mountain in a featureless world.
And as she smote me into a thousand pieces, she gave me a gift.
One that I did not comprehend at first. One that scared me at first. One that broke me again.
She gifted me… feeling.
She gifted me pain and madness and imperfection. She gifted me excruciating pleasure and beautiful pain.
In a binary world composed of logic, she was a paradox.
For she was femininity made flesh.
Back and forth we fought, but neither could win.
It was madness. It was insanity. It was…