Poems
by Thea Ariel Verrypurpose
upon my creation
God’s hand slipped on the intensity dial
melancholy may forever flood me
but I feel glad for the pain
if I lose my hope
then I’m halfway home
if I lose my faith
then I’ll beg for the end
a life without aim is quite trivial
a single point has no movement
stepping into a slingshot, craving connection
shooting forward into perfect choices
perfect because they were made
perfect because they can change
balance is our eternal lesson
mastery is to do no harm
luckily to melt extremes into balance
is simply to fail a thousand times over
to get up and try again—
“a path is made by walking”
"Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar"
-Antonio Machado
one way or another
what is stagnation, if not our most patient guest?
riddling us with nonchalance
temptation in every direction, pulling us to nowhere
an invitation to watch as a greater life passes by
to not choose evolution still proves choice
what is humility, if not a warm nuzzle?
bringing us back down to Earth
grounding us in our perfect flaws
showing the beautiful failings inherent
to a true masterpiece
what is delight, if not our inner child’s laugh?
revealing to us that we’ve been here before
and it always works out
guiding us to what we really need
reminding us of the simplicity that we’ve muddled
what is connection, if not a mirror?
reflecting back a love that we know to be within us
whispering softly in the heart’s language
scratching the ultimate itch
to help and be helped
so what is humanity
if not a gentle dance?
soothing, reminding, murmuring always
that we are all brothers and sisters—
our mother’s eternal lullaby
Self Love
To love myself is to love
infinite versions of me,
from my own perspective
and every other.
I’m learning to accept that
a different me lives behind
every pair of eyes
that have gazed into my own.
I am
an egg inside of my grandmothers grandmother,
an unborn fetus,
a screaming baby,
a messy toddler with scraped up knees,
a neglected little girl,
an eye catching its own unkindness in a mirror,
a leg scarred from denying itself stitches,
a first love,
a stomach that always seemed a little too round,
a child who never felt worthy,
a burnt out student, lover, employee,
a woman who centered men,
a woman who learned to speak her truth,
a woman who’s too much or not enough,
a woman who released control,
a woman who found faith,
an anti-fascist citizen,
a human who does their best while witnessing genocides,
a person who tries to walk the balance beam of duality,
an eternal soul cycling through lessons,
a beautiful body that’s always changing,
a heart broken again and again,
an ex-best friend, an ex-girlfriend, a daughter, a sister,
a roommate, a friend, a beginner, and a teacher,
a person worthy of love and whimsy,
a being with inherent value,
a flame that can never be put out,
a life that I refuse not to live.
give me depth or give me death
my tea kettle blares,
or my heart screams out,
yet I’ve a gratitude for the offense
it means the machine works
there is nothing more pungent,
putrid and filth ridden
than the numbness of silence
a loss of both wholeness and truth
so let’s weep with the weary,
for at least they tire,
as a life without conscious lows
is a suffocating blanket of meager darkness
under which we’d pray to simply suffer,
to be released back to true being,
for an ache in our heart
for the shriek of our kettle
the cage
i find myself craving the stench of acceptance
like honey and milk in my chamomile tea
seeking a clarity of worth; a catch 22
because the affirmation can only come from me
can only seep through my own pores
but some patterns never really seem to heal
so please don’t forget to take care of you
please host a birthday party for yourself everyday
because we are always being reborn
even if each version starts out on life support
even if each step is one trip away from psychosis
the ball never stops spinning
does anyone else feel that?
or does everyone really tuck their forgotten, dirty bits
so cleanly into their tiny pockets?
often it feels like it stinks off of me
looms into the room before i enter
clouded i think maybe i’m better off behind a closed door
like a zoo animal that comes out for show
like the hawk that nicely flies into the hand that feeds him
like the dolphin doing tricks for applause
why do they do it?
why do you do it?
entrapment
they’ve no where else to go
and really how self absorbed am i to think
that everyone is this absorbed with me
that they pick me out and smell it too
when really we’re free to roam!
the door to the cage is open
did you know?
are you going?
A List of Melancholy
August dew
the first day of school after break
knowing you’ll never be who you used to be
grieving what you thought you wanted
realizing it was never yours to hold
noticing signs of aging
life insurance money
babies in the NICU
adopting from an animal shelter
watching Palestinian resilience through a screen
being desensitized to death
the moment you finish a sad movie or book
a beautiful (gentrified) house next to a neglected house
seeing through a lie
recognizing manipulation
unlearning self sabotage
wanting to say “wow look at that,” while you’re alone
transition
the necessary, unwavering belief that good will prevail
Strength
Sometimes I wish I was stronger,
before I remember,
what is softness
if not great strength?
In the integrity of fearless authenticity,
in the sensuality of gentle touch,
in the graceful movement away
from what is no longer mine;
sensitivity ties me to the plot,
to love and joy, to feeling.
A heart is an open wound,
one God constantly licks clean.
The open are favored;
I am sure of this one thing.
It is why I eternally pour myself
into the hearth.
So ruin me, stomp on me, wring me out,
for God’s hands will never waver
as they dig me out
and ready me for more again.
I’ve learned to understand
that truth is better than good.
I never hem raw seams;
I aim to stare unblinking at the moment.
Even when it burns
like cities after air raids,
like forest fires,
like my face after humiliation.
When my time comes
to leave this body,
please leave my eyes open,
so I may stare until my end.