September Love

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by Lang Leav


  for someone you can laugh with

  even when you’re sad

  Someone you can be at

  peace with, even with

  a stomach full of butterflies

  And as you are searching

  the great sea of darkness

  for a flicker of light

  there is someone who is

  searching for you

  One day you will find refuge

  in another, and they will learn

  to know your heart

  like it was their own

  My Poetry

  They accuse me of never putting myself on a page, that I distance myself from my poetry like an old lover I have lived to regret. They say I’m dishonest, inauthentic, that I don’t know heartbreak the way I write it. But there are other ways to tell my secrets, and I have many. Like apple seeds buried deep in my bones. Cinnamon and cyanide. Blood pacts and promises. There are so many versions of me splashed onto a page, like a carnival of mirrors. I wanted you to know my poetry, but I never meant for you to know me.

  God

  I couldn’t put a word to the thing I was searching for

  that divine earth-shattering crash with divinity, anything

  I pleaded, to knock me off my ill-fated path to self-destruction

  on my way to meet with my desire—stop me in my tracks

  At first, I thought it was duty, and I wore my hands

  down to the bone working for scraps—I was grateful

  Next I thought it was creation, the building of worlds

  and I raised the dead for my stories, told all there was to tell

  Then one day, I believed with every ounce of my being

  that it was a man and I was out of my mind for him

  yet my body wouldn’t let go in my ascension to heaven

  I fell back down so hard, I almost thought I’d found it

  And then on a quiet Sunday I had nothing left to give

  I was still my earthly self—ashamed of my wanting

  When I noticed a crack in the wall above my kitchen sink

  from where a row of ants had emerged quietly one after another

  Marching in a line, tiny antennas twitching, searching the ether

  and all at once, a deep and profound understanding shook me

  In that moment, I knew without question to be alive

  is to seek and thirst and hunger. For the first time

  God showed his face and I was compelled by a voice

  unlike any other, coaxing me to make peace with my desire,

  to remain wholly intact as I was intended—gladly imperfect—

  with joy give myself up to the inevitability of my life

  A Love Letter to Poetry

  There is a voice inside your head

  With whom you speak every night

  And this voice you hear in bed

  You often hear without a choice

  And it sings to you as sweet as song

  And will ask you nothing in return

  If you’re alone it stays by your side

  a part of you that will never tire

  And when you write, it will rejoice

  For poetry is a love letter to that voice

  Ask the World

  When you can’t find a single soul to carry your poetry to him—you must ask the whole world instead.

  Mistress

  His work is his mistress

  He goes to her

  sometimes for hours

  sometimes for days

  I know where he is

  the minute I lose him

  in mid-conversation

  She’s never far from his mind

  His fantasy girl

  Stitched from memories

  of past lovers

  real and imaginary

  Someone

  The work is sweeter when it’s done to the backdrop of love. The ambient glow of knowing you are safe. Someone to bear witness to your creation. Someone to hold your hand.

  Men

  Men possess us like demons

  like demigods

  We revere them

  We despise them

  We chase them

  We run away

  We pretend we are stronger

  than our desire

  but we let them move

  into our bodies

  occupy our minds

  bleed the strength from our bones

  drain the charge from our spines

  Men make us or they undo us

  like time

  like life

  like love

  they give us everything

  They take it all

  To Understand

  I am only writing to you now, my sweet, because it is such a sad, sad time. And when I am sad it seems, you’re the only one on my mind. The only who knows the truth depth of the deep dark sea, who has traveled as far down as me.

  From the start we were bound by sadness and everything else—but you cannot live with someone who is so much like yourself. So, I am reaching out to you again, with my small, anxious hands. Because today I am not looking for kind words or platitudes—but for someone to understand.

  The End of Love

  Somewhere on a sidewalk

  you kiss a girl hello

  and the world collapses

  around me as you fall into her

  Somewhere on a bathroom floor

  lying among the ruins of our love

  I am trying to pick myself up again

  Somewhere in an old abandoned house

  on a distant star—they’ve just heard

  your voice for the first time.

  And if sound can go on forever

  Then why can’t our love?

  After Thirty

  For many women, turning thirty is something we are conditioned to dread. As though we are born with a clock already ticking, counting down. From our first breath, we are in a race against time.

  I clearly remember my race. Looking at how far everyone had gone ahead of me, feeling panic well up in my chest. All my life, I had thought the clock ticking away inside me was a time bomb. But when the time came, I realized the clock wasn’t counting down—it was counting up. And just like that, my whole life came together, and I knew it was just the beginning.

  Everything good that happened after that would have happened anyway. But after thirty, I learned that when you confront your fear, it will no longer have power over you. And when you are no longer afraid, the possibilities are endless.

  Night and Day

  There are those who say

  that love is bright

  that love and hate

  are day and night

  Yet there is light

  when darkness looms

  and shadows

  in every sunlit room

  When grief foreshadows

  the blackened moon

  joy is a counter

  to her doom

  May we see ourselves

  in every star

  that sets to remind us

  who we are

  The Chase

  I have grown soft—forgotten what it was like to go hungry. Love has spoilt me, but I don’t miss a man I have to chase. Does that seem sad to you? That I don’t miss you? I wish I could tell you about my life. Paint a picture of everything you’re missing. Sometimes I still feel you, looking out from behind my eyes. There was a time when I would have given it all to you. But not anymore. The truth is, I loved our love more than I loved you.

  Moving Time

  Like love, loneliness is a nocturnal thing


  when I’m missing you all night

  You snatch away the sleep

  You take so much time from me, my love

  And what is love but a heartbeat, ticking over

  What is a heartbeat but a ready and anxious clock

  What are you but minute hands and hours absent

  Only you can make time move for me, my love

  Only you can make it stop

  A Single Word

  To be a poet you must hold nothing back. In poetry there is no room for ego, nowhere to hide. You must write under the pretense that no one will ever read a single word.

  When We Love

  Why does it hurt when we love

  When love is so painfully present

  Like a sheet on a line

  warmed by the sun

  Or when I take your hand

  A simple, sweet thing

  A miracle every time

  You ask me why it hurts

  and I breathe you in

  Ever so slowly, I breathe love in

  Hold it for as long as I can

  and I say, ask me again

  if there is tenderness in love

  If there is too much of it

  On Being a Muse

  I need you—your warmth and despair. I want to be the word that curls around your tongue. The body that curls around your words. Sometimes it feels like a curse to be this intimate with language. To admit I am not the only one you have touched in this way.

  My Love

  My love calls to me

  Says, when will you come back

  like you promised all those years ago

  When you miss the shoreline of your motherland

  When you’ve had the world so many times over

  and found it more walls than wonder

  My love says I have grown old waiting for you

  Don’t you miss me—

  not even a little?

  Does this not feel like

  a kind of slow death

  Tell me now before I go on waiting

  if I should die waiting for you

  Something Back

  The moment you look at me will be the end of my life. The second your arms open up for me, everything will fall to dust.

  There is no such thing as happiness like this. My lips pressed into your palm. Joy tearing through me like madness. Your tongue drawing circles down my stomach. Nothing this perfect can come from God. It must be borrowed from a place so dark, it would make your skin crawl. It doesn’t come without wanting something back.

  The One She Loved

  She lived her life hiding from herself

  Trading one abuse for another

  Weighing every wrong with

  a feather and stone

  And every man she wanted

  Wanted her all to himself

  and the one she loved

  left her alone

  Ten Things

  There came a time when you were allowed only ten worldly possessions

  Down by my feet, were the things I had chosen

  The first was a clock to tell the time. And to feel a heartbeat that was separate to mine

  A pencil, eraser, and book of blank pages, words written on sand through all the ages

  A spoon and bowl my fifth and sixth, a phantom meal for me to lick

  My seventh a cup to catch the rain, to quench my thirst and dull my pain

  A pillow in the place of my bed, to rest my head

  My ninth, a quilt against the cold, something to hold

  And when I was down to one, I couldn’t choose

  between a knife and a picture of you

  Shame

  Is it truly possible to live without shame? If not inflicted by others, then self-imposed?

  Some Loves

  I think of our love as a door left slightly ajar, like a magnifying glass that my hand must shield from the sun. There are some loves that are soft and gentle like the caress of summer rain and others like wild animals trapped in cages, that will devour us whole if we let them.

  Those That Come

  The things you want

  beyond reason

  how will they come?

  Will it be all at once

  Or one by one?

  When you arrive

  at your heart’s desire

  How will you fair?

  Will it be as you imagined?

  when your dream

  is standing there?

  There are dreams

  that take a lifetime

  Others—merely a day

  Only those that come

  too swiftly

  just as quickly

  slip away

  All Love

  It is time to do what you’ve always wanted. It may be the best or worst thing, but it will no doubt be the bravest. You are young enough to build your life from the ground up, old enough to know how to do it. So, close your eyes and listen to the drumming of your heart, the ringing of your soul whispering now is the time, this is now your time. Do what you must, what you must do. For those who act out of love needn’t ever be afraid. I am all love and you have nothing to fear.

  We Were Loved

  We were loved in ways

  We couldn’t know

  Loved with gladness

  Loved with sorrow

  We were taught to meet

  the demands of others

  In the name of love

  they hurt our mothers

  They kept us close

  and held our hands

  Gave us more love

  than we could stand

  And still we plead

  and still we doubt

  whether loved within reason

  or loved without

  To Yourself

  Pick yourself up. Get it together. Not because others have it worse than you. Not because you owe it to anyone to put on a smile. But because you have your mother’s blood flowing through your veins. And even if you think otherwise, you matter to so many people. But first of all, you need to matter to yourself.

  A Reminder

  People want to know you

  All you have to be is present

  People want to love you

  All you need to be is yourself

  Written

  When you have written all you had to write

  there is nothing left to write about but yourself

  Among the Stars

  A girl from nowhere special. With a fistful of dirt in her hand. And an irrepressible fire in her belly.

  Who looks up at the stars and knows them by heart. Who is patiently learning the language of The Universe. And believes in something greater than herself.

  That loves her unconditionally.

  And will carry her always.

  A girl who looks up at the stars knowing one day, she will be among them.

  Show of Love

  I want to buy us a house

  with red roses in the yard

  and a skylight above our bed

  Raindrops dancing on the glass

  A house made of bricks

  an address that I can write to

  anytime I wish

  A fireplace roaring

  against the long, cold night

  and a blanket big enough

  to wrap around us both

  I think shelter is the ultimate

  show of love

  and I want to protect you

  from everything that hurts

  All the Things

  You are made of the all things you have loved
. You are made of the all the things you have lost. And both contribute in equal measure to your beauty and your brilliance.

  Your Poetry

  If I only knew you through your poetry—would ever only know you through your words—I think I would have loved you just the same.

  My Version of Love

  You gave me so much—I didn’t know how to hold it. The moment you stopped, I was down on my knees. You said my version of love could not exist without conquest. Maybe you’re right.

  All my life I have fought so damn hard for every single thing I have.

  If you make it too easy for me, I won’t believe it’s real.

  This World

  I love this world so very dearly

  Even more so now it feels

  I am losing my grip on everything

  The sun came up for me even

  though I never asked it to

  And most days I wouldn’t give

  a second thought to everything

  that was going right in my life.

  The pure joy of waking up

  with somewhere to go

  something to do

  and someone to love

  I used to worry in the pointless way

  one does—one who never had

  to question her place in the world

  Not knowing the fragility

  of this place

  Be a Poet

  What is it like being a poet? You open yourself up like a big, ruinous chasm and everyone sees inside you, but no one understands who you are.

  Palm

  I drew on the back of my hand—all my plans. Things I would never say out loud. I stared at the words and what they meant. For myself, and everyone around. I unclenched my fist, held my palm up flat like a mirror, looked at it long and hard. I took a deep breath; my finger traced the lines from end to start. My life line. My fate line. My heart. It was all there before me like an open book, but I still didn’t know what to do, even though I already knew.

  Every Other Heart

  Will you love me enough? Love me so much that your heart can barely hold it—that it would break every other heart you’ve ever held?

  Good Enough

 

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