calm your fears. don't let them corrode you from your eyelids all the way to your feet, don't let them slam you against walls.
do not give them voice or a pair of arms. do not give this fear of solitude that is so shamelessly exposed in you anything else.
i see you in every corner, street or avenue, whether it's radiant or blustery, waiting for your love to return to your arms, mild, tranquil.
i see you collapsing insidiously, deteriorating, losing yourself in the narrow alleys that love always seems to disembogue on.
i see you burning the bridges that would take you home, defying your own notion of tangibility, always so, so, desperate for something that might hold your worries.
do not die for love.
do not let it put you on your knees, do not kiss its feet, do not build altars for it, do not stretch your skin for it.
love can be an empty bar, a revolution in 1789, a systematized conception, a poem without verses.
do not die for love and if you don't have it, if it was taken from you or if it simply left, do not try to generate one.
don't remember the ones who departed, the ones who never came, don't get angry, don't get upset. do not scream belligerently to the skies, to the gods. do not cry copiously because of the defaults, because of the fear of ending up alone in the street, in the bed, in the poem.
the love you felt was real and tactile just like the punches that were thrown at you when you thought you knew everything about time's relativity before it even had any kind of impact on you.
do not die for love.
pack your bags. there is no sin in knowing when to leave. forget all of you idealization, this will be the last time you wait for anyone but yourself.
do not disrupt with the world. do not cry in the margin of your poems. hold your own hand.
love yourself until the end of the seas.
be colossal, athirst, tenacious.
before the world ends,
strip yourself of all clothes and doubts and walk naked through your own country.
YOU ARE READING
your glorious indifference
Poetry[POETRY/PROSE] [an ode to the things that make me want to spit blood and call it poetry] copyright 2019
