I trust the initiation.
They asked me to “tell my story”, and so — I told it.
I told it again & again & again
in a million different ways
until they listened.
But I didn’t care if they listened.
I cared if I listened.
I cared if I fucking listened.
I knew I had to go first.
prose poetry on aliveness //
published with a fervour that defies reason
because I can do what feels good for me, I can
melt into the moment, I can
simply be //
nothing needs to be
‘justified’ or ‘fixed’ or even ‘fulfilled’ // there is
nothing to find
& no hole to fill
fucking hell, there is no hole to fill.
tell me who you think you are
then tell me that you trust the initiation
I will laugh at & cry with you in equal measure
(we can be together)