Fault Lines

A poem, fragmentary

[25-03-16] Fault Lines

---

No intro necessary.

This is called Fault Lines. I am thinking this will be the title of my next collection.

Fault Lines brighter

---

Fault Lines

It’s your fault, Mother.
These blank spaces where my childhood should have been,
This emptiness where my childhood lies in shattered ruins.

When all that’s left is fragments
And wishes.
This is all your fault, Mother.

Shift here still in the uneasiness between beats
With a heart who hopes for a different life
In a different world with a different Mother.

For I would love to place my love
Elsewhere. Not on a pedestal, no,
Nor in some foreign land where I may scope
Or shape a new world and a new heart
And a new Mother.
Not on a pedestal, though she would smile
Down at me when my gaze shows upwards
And my new eyes shine.

And I would not be crawling,
I would not be howling,
I would not be suffering.
I would not be wanting.

Pitch my heart for a new story
Where every day is bright
In a parallel world where every day is lighter
And my new Mother is beautiful
And my new Mother is good
And my new Mother is new
And knows how to love.

My new Mother loves me.
There are no fault lines.
No cracks in my soul. Not this time.
No fragmentary essence.
No altered states of mind.

One day, perhaps, she’ll take me to the seashore,
Bid me turn my hope-filled gaze to the horizon
And say, there, that’s yours.
That is all yours.
Your future.
See how she breathes. Hear
How she wishes.

She is a Siren, that future.
See, that ocean. You
Beneath a brighter, calmer sky,
All reds and golden hues.
Open to your own heart
And no fault lines
As my real Mother loves me
And grasps my hand
And makes me feel
Safe.

No fault lines.
No fragmentary cracks.
No fault lines.
I love, and I will love her
In my next life.

---

Fault Lines darker

Just to remind you beautiful readers and subscribers, in a lovingly mercenary way, I’ve got a quaint collection of poetry you can purchase as a little e-book, for which you can click there. It’s called Kundalini and it’s dark, dissociative, sexy, and beautiful, if I say so myself.

At the moment, at that link, you can buy it for the price of one of your coffee-infusions. Yeah, I do know those coffee infusions are worth far more than a few dozen perfect poems, plus some extras, but hey, perhaps you may experience a day in which one coffee fewer may just work out. You never know.

Alternatively, if you don’t - or can’t - take out a paid subscription, then there’s always the option of buying me a coffee. That way, you don’t have to forfeit your own.

I too, after all, am addicted to that Colombian shit.

There’ll be more poetry from me soon. I can assure you of that.

In the meantime, just be excellent to each other, eh?

And if you are a mother, please, don’t treat your children like my mother treated me.