Unconventional She. Unconventional Me.
Nov 28
“Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself…” Kahlil Gibran
driftwood…
Weathered by the elements his beauty is unspeakable
those rugged planes of character endured the blues of living
Hollowed and withered by the sands of time
Appearing to be light as the breeze just as it is
When the current breaks the shore
There you sit peacefully, quietly, thinking
About everything or maybe nothing at all…
How foolish of me to think you knew no strength
Son of sea, you were created
In the womb of the ocean and
Carried away parts of her that are now
Permanently etched in your body
And ingrained in your psyche… you
Son of sea know no weakness
While others searched for all the pretty things
Misguided and naive I took you home with me
My beloved, how distinguished you were
I admired your unique antique qualities
The complexities of your simplistic circular variations
Your voice melodic and charming to the ear
Speaking the love of Gibran
Love, you say he says, gives naught but itself.
I say, “Smh.” But reluctantly I agreed
Better yet… YOU agreed to just be in the moment
And while I waited… I polished you
Took great care to preserve your essence
Soon the current of circumstance carried you
From my admiration to my heart to my bed
There you lay with me every night
When your abrasiveness rubbed me raw
I dismissed it as exfoliation
When your splinters punctured my skin
I claimed it as growing pains
So ingrained in my genetic makeup that I
Became more Georgia pine than Georgia peach
You invaded my body, took my strength
You decided my body was your ebb
Your positive pulse of pleasure that
Carried me into inexistence, discarding me
As just another piece of driftwood
Sitting in the same place as where I found you
Consistently withered and worn from the tide
Drifting like all the other wood; nothing separates us.
We’re all the same: ugly and uniform, dull and denied
Waiting in vain for someone to see us, see me, the way I saw you