Please Note: This poem was first posted to my blog, Cafe Philos, and can be found here, along with other poems and essays.
Some scientists now say that our dogs love us.
Love us with the purest love.
If they do, I’ll bet they love us
More often and better than we ourselves love us.
We so thoroughly erect barriers to love.
And so soon in life, by the time we’re pubic
We’re more often seeking to be loved,
Than we are to love anyone else.
So curious how our language turns “****” two-faced:
“Let me **** you”, but “Don’t you **** me”!
I can say some things
That won’t matter now to most of us.
How often we abuse
When we don’t love.
How often we manipulate
When we don’t love.
How much sorrow we create
When we don’t love.
It’s just a game we play for so many of us,
But we lie we never heard we could be players.
We lie again we do not lie.
It’s everyone else who lies.
The liars! They spoil it for us!
We take a glass to make the sun burn other hearts to ashes.
Ashes that we keep in jars on our mantles
So that we can sentimentally sigh to our guests,
“Pity me, become my lover, for I have suffered loss in life
Of the ones I loved.” Sentimentally sigh like spiders
To the flies they intend to trap. “Come near to me in pity.”
We make a cult of virgins — they’re easy to exploit.
We even turn pretty hair into something to be pulled.
We pluck the flower, pressing it to dry between pages,
So we can gratuitously cry how cruel love is to us.
We sanctimoniously say, “Love conquers all”, but take pride
That we ourselves have conquered love,
Tallied up and notched our belts with the times
Some damn fool loved us. I’ve bedded more women than you.
Men tumble to me, I’m beautiful.
In the hours that we rape love
Our lives bleed out to putrid corpses,
And then we have the gall to complain
We are bored with him, bored with her,
Bored with ourselves, unhappy,
And we feel meaningless.
The irony here is you need your petty life affirmed
By someone else’s love. You cannot affirm yourself.
Here’s a secret, a secret you hide from yourself,
A secret you deny even now.
Even now when your days have turned to night.
I’ll whisper it now though you will disbelieve:
Your life has turned petty
Because you have refused to love.
In the end, it was not him or her,
It was you who raped your life.
If you’re rare and you want better
Don’t waste time blaming others,
But begin by looking inside.
Tear down the barriers you have thrown up!
Make yourself open and vulnerable!
Become your fearless child,
Too innocent to lie.
Burn again with unclinging love.
Yes, I know the rain might pour in
(And it probably will now and then).
Yes, I know that means you might suffer
(And you probably will now and then).
Yes, for a time you will feel lost
As you tear down the horror-house
Fortress you have built
And once claimed guarded
All your meaning and truth.
But you already suffer, and greatly so.
Listen!
In perfect vulnerability is amazing strength.
In perfect openness is amazing wisdom.
Nothing but love itself is more resilient,
Nothing but love itself
Shines with more light.
Some scientists now say that our dogs love us.
Love us with the purest love.
If they do, I’ll bet they love us
More often and better than we ourselves love us.
We so thoroughly erect barriers to love.
And so soon in life, by the time we’re pubic
We’re more often seeking to be loved,
Than we are to love anyone else.
So curious how our language turns “****” two-faced:
“Let me **** you”, but “Don’t you **** me”!
I can say some things
That won’t matter now to most of us.
How often we abuse
When we don’t love.
How often we manipulate
When we don’t love.
How much sorrow we create
When we don’t love.
It’s just a game we play for so many of us,
But we lie we never heard we could be players.
We lie again we do not lie.
It’s everyone else who lies.
The liars! They spoil it for us!
We take a glass to make the sun burn other hearts to ashes.
Ashes that we keep in jars on our mantles
So that we can sentimentally sigh to our guests,
“Pity me, become my lover, for I have suffered loss in life
Of the ones I loved.” Sentimentally sigh like spiders
To the flies they intend to trap. “Come near to me in pity.”
We make a cult of virgins — they’re easy to exploit.
We even turn pretty hair into something to be pulled.
We pluck the flower, pressing it to dry between pages,
So we can gratuitously cry how cruel love is to us.
We sanctimoniously say, “Love conquers all”, but take pride
That we ourselves have conquered love,
Tallied up and notched our belts with the times
Some damn fool loved us. I’ve bedded more women than you.
Men tumble to me, I’m beautiful.
In the hours that we rape love
Our lives bleed out to putrid corpses,
And then we have the gall to complain
We are bored with him, bored with her,
Bored with ourselves, unhappy,
And we feel meaningless.
The irony here is you need your petty life affirmed
By someone else’s love. You cannot affirm yourself.
Here’s a secret, a secret you hide from yourself,
A secret you deny even now.
Even now when your days have turned to night.
I’ll whisper it now though you will disbelieve:
Your life has turned petty
Because you have refused to love.
In the end, it was not him or her,
It was you who raped your life.
If you’re rare and you want better
Don’t waste time blaming others,
But begin by looking inside.
Tear down the barriers you have thrown up!
Make yourself open and vulnerable!
Become your fearless child,
Too innocent to lie.
Burn again with unclinging love.
Yes, I know the rain might pour in
(And it probably will now and then).
Yes, I know that means you might suffer
(And you probably will now and then).
Yes, for a time you will feel lost
As you tear down the horror-house
Fortress you have built
And once claimed guarded
All your meaning and truth.
But you already suffer, and greatly so.
Listen!
In perfect vulnerability is amazing strength.
In perfect openness is amazing wisdom.
Nothing but love itself is more resilient,
Nothing but love itself
Shines with more light.
