Saturday, October 27, 2018
My soul has a hole as big as the sea.
People see through it,
and hence don't see me.
My parents dug the hole,
a few others picked at it, too.
They hid the fill from me.
I've been looking for it ever since.
I am flawed because I've been gnawed.
Wanting to be generous, becoming delirious.
My heart selfishly perverted,
even when I try to do good.
My mind plays this trick,
making me think that I'm sick.
I keep trying to jam the square peg
into that round hole in my soul.
I say to myself it's good enough to be respected and appreciated.
But what I really desire is to be praised and admired.
I try to tell myself it's not about me,
but after a while cry out, "Why not? Why not me?"
"Where am I?
Don't I matter?"
Then, I forget I even have a soul,
and see nothing but the hole.
I see the hole as big as the sea.
Then I see the sea is vast in me.
Vast and huge, deep, complex, fluid,
creative, sensual, essential, full of life.
My soul doesn't have a hole as big as the sea.
The hole as big as the sea is my soul in me.
(Dedicated to survivors everywhere.)