Sunday, April 02, 2006

IN MY BELLY, A Love Poem

There’s a pain in my belly,
A place stuffed with bags of hurt,
Bloated with distorted losses,
Far too much grief to share.
Set my jaw and bear it another day.
Lost loves
Lost hopes
Lost dreams

There’s a pain in my belly,
A place hollow with deafening terror.
The panic scream of loneliness that I soley hear.
Hide the emptiness.

Deny my hunger.
What would happen if you knew?
My need
My longing
My frailty

There’s a pain in my belly,
A place scarred by a lifetime of war.
If you don’t hurt me, I’ll hurt myself.
There’s no safety from the violating rage.
It’s all around and within.
In you
In me
In them

There’s a pain in my belly,
A place tender with purple-yellow uncertainty.
Unfolded, opened, exposed,
Radiating white-hot veracity.
Turn around if you’re too afraid
Erratic courage
Fragile hope
Absolute Love


At 1:59 PM, Blogger Shephard said...

purple-yellow uncertainty... great line. Uncertainty *is* like a bruise.

At 6:15 PM, Blogger Dick the Boomer said...

Wow. That hurts. Powerful stuff, T. I agree with Shephard - that line and the following - very graphic.

"There's no hope fom the violating rage." whoa...

At 6:54 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

WOW! That's deep.

At 7:19 PM, Blogger joy said...

This is so descriptive theresa. I can almost picture and feel the pain.

At 8:27 PM, Blogger theresa said...

Shephard - I never knew that until today.

Dick - Probably more powerful than I actually feel. It's more of a condenced version of pain.

Shawn - I suppose it is. Thanks for stopping by.

Joy - It must have made a difference that I had a really nasty tummy-ache today.

At 9:32 PM, Blogger Bougie Black Boy said...

I appreciate the rawness and realness of this. There is a deafening rhythm to this poem, thatI could ultimately see being sung by Alanis Morrissette, Tracy Chapman, Sinead, or Fiona Apple.

Who, I guess, are to me--strong women (like you), who too have been hurt -- yet create masterpieces such as this.

At 8:28 AM, Blogger Steve said...

"A place scarred by a lifetime of war.
If you don’t hurt me, I’ll hurt myself."

The soul is the place
where we touch,
and we can see
while we are still blind.
No, its not actual;
but yes, its absolutely real.
How else could love be absolute?

When I read this "love poem" for the first time, it reminded me of Bush's lyrics in "Everything Zen": "There no sex in your violence."

At 9:06 AM, Blogger theresa said...

Stephen - When I re-read this on a Monday morning, it's painful to recall the dark place I was when I wrote it. Thank you for your kind appraisal.

Steve - From the inside out, or the outside in. In a way, that stanza is a challenge to my lover as well as a statement of fact. The challenge: don't hurt me, don't let me hurt myself (not very realistic). The fact: We all bring our crap to a relationship. We're going to hurt each other, no matter how much love there is. We can't help it.

At 12:09 PM, Blogger hooluvsyabaybee said...

an absolutely perfect depiction, Theresa. Add a little anguished embarrassment and I'm right there with you at the moment.

At 3:51 PM, Blogger Brea said...

The panic scream of loneliness that I soley hear.
Hide the emptiness.

You just read my mind.

At 1:55 PM, Blogger Julie said...

There is a power in your belly and in your words. I love coming here and seeing the parts of you that you share each day!

At 8:27 PM, Blogger Polyman2 said...

could just be gas;
it will pass.


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