Watering the Dead
A poem of self love
There is a part me that wants to destroy you. I chain her in the basement behind the tattered boxes labeled “shame” and “fear.”
This part of me that hates you, I’ve been letting her out of her cage. Only when she and I are alone, mind you. Her rage had become stale and brittle like thirsty kindling. I water her with love, wash her malice with a light caress, bath her rage in easy smiles and gentle kisses. I towel off her self loathing with fluffy reminders that she is already wanted and adored. She moistens over time. The gentleness seeps down into her. Past the compacted lies of rejection and unworthiness. Past the bitterness that has taken root. With gentleness I revive the dead. With tenderness I birth humanity anew.
From my unpublished book of poetry, Glory: A Poetic Celebration of Awakening, Coming Home to Self, and Overcoming Oppression.