requiem for a brilliant brooder (teacher, tormentor, should be cult leader)

aware of my death
as i'm aware of my life
i'd do anything
just to be
a towering man's wife

but i'm not a girl
just like I'm not a boy
caught, somewhere in between
so i became, just a toy

fucked, by myself
trapped in fear and self loathing
mind, shaped, "in splits"
mode, escaping and roaming

prone to dreams without becoming
and a need for the numbing
of all the pain, trapped deep within
i learned that to care,
is the end, in begin

do you know what it's like
to love so deeply, divine?
to feel the presence of a beauty
that makes you sob, touched,
inside

i've felt it for him
and ive felt it for her
a god, last of "tyler"
and a goddess, named terah
all walls, ego, conscious
fell away, heart, stripped bare of

all the worries and woes
all the trappings and throws

of word defenses
and pride, pretenses

such is the gushing
of a thirst, when it quenches

the desire for "real"
and the "behold" in the feel
a voice so divine, it sent shivers,
the spine

to live for the bleeding,
heart, so moved,
"please be mine"....

but not in the way
that the common would perceive
a sexless sensuality,
more "the gift", less deceive

no reason to lie,
when all you want,
"let me love you"

let me experience you,
bathe in you, sing to you
sweet stranger, you

stranger, in the fact
you too, without "act"
so actualized, your honest eyes
like paradise found,
in a landscape of lies

freedom will be,
when i'm finally removed
of all language and labels
all "why?" theories, unproved

no one knows anything
least of all me, "i'm just here"
and the reason for that
something never quite clear

"bored, desperate, lonely"
he calls me,
he, my brilliant
brutality based, realist,
makes me think, listen, feel it

all the things, i don't want to face
just a "tragedy whore",
more, "the gone", less "the grace"

of someone using time,
"in the wise",
always the one reaching,
but never winning, "the prize"

in the end,
the one that matters the most
would you rather feed,
"the servant",
or can you finally grow,
"the host"?

as in, the face inside,
responsible, your life
even if, all you died for,
to be someones devoted,
"do the dishes", draped wife

living with dreams
that may never come true
is the point,
i have them,
tell me, the secret,
what, those, you?

"the you", is "i"
and the shame, on me
all the wasted time,
"non-wonderfuls"
the older you get,
the more the "bullshit blunders",
get dull

but for those, not mistaken
not forgotten, forsaken

i know, not a waste, but
the timeless, in taken

to a place, for a moment
my hearts' blood, did i own it
this was me, most alive
and most true

both sides, somehow together,
tied, moved

to just finally be
alive, in the loving
no fear of the future,
no "because", just becoming

the valentine, the victor
fuck "the scale",
judged, "the richter"

no one noticed,
it was me,
doesn't matter,

no one's looking, or cares
there,
the "semi-happily"

ever after.



bowen hart roselli
8 november 2019 ringwald love