Writing

How Can I Love Myself?

Sometimes I fall in love

with a musical key or scale.

I want to live in it,

suspended between the tones and frequencies,

like a shower of harmonics.

The notes become imprinted within me,

the hum of a guitar, the ring of a piano,

vibrations.

I will dance with them endlessly

until we grow tired of each other.

Then I will fight with them,

wrestling around.

I will flip them, warp them,

bend and break them,

try to forget them,

until they sound new.

 

Sometimes I fall in love

with an image or video.

I want to live in it,

suspended between the details and borders,

like a shower of pixels.

The frames become imprinted within me,

warm fog from a rooftop vent, a floating feather,

dancing dust in a streak of sunlight,

views from a window

replaying on loop.

Eventually, I won’t be able to

distinguish myself from the image.

I am the image and the image is me,

a motion picture, emotion picked her.

Then I feel trapped,

wanting to rip myself out,

a tear in space and time,

like folding a beating heart into itself,

until the insides are the outsides

and the outsides are within,

until it looks new.

 

Sometimes I fall in love,

the bounds of love,

at once both comforting and confining.

Nothing is new.

Only the same you

from a different point of view.

– JPR (1-15-18)

 

Everything in moderation,

including moderation,

moderation of moderation

in this modern nation.

Yet, there is only now,

nothing to moderate

but now.

Everything is relative.

Nothing is static.

Dynamics, fluidity,

The water that washes over me.

The river that runs through us all.

The river that we all run through.

The falls ahead will make the rapids behind seem small.

And then the calm is evermore appreciated.

The more you fight the current

the more likely you are to drown.

Becoming weightless is the key.

– JPR (1-6-18)