sadness

PERMISSION TO RISE

Am I brave enough yet to emerge,
to escape the regret,
to dismantle,
forget,
to demolish the surge of this
plundering ache,
to curb
and to conquer
and famish the quaking;
this suffering silence;
this violent breath taking.
Am I whole enough yet
to prohibit the shaking,
snaking my flesh with
its mandible gaping,
and I,
an invertebrate
sensing
it
raking
its
claws
like it’s tilling
a field in my pause.

– I AM –

I am soul enough, rousing to roar
– but will this awareness
alone be the door to implore me to forfeit,
renounce,
and withdraw from
this former attachment
to lapse while I stall,
while in fragments
I catch myself falling
before
I submit to this whiplash of
“worth less” and war,

mauling through self-harm,
rejecting my core.

Perhaps in my rapture
my courage will capture
the thrill of detaching,
unlatching,
resolving;
forgiving myself for my lack of evolving;
for dressing tornadoes I’d wade in,
dissolving,
while anchored by nought but
the grief I was holding
by swallowing pain
– almost framing each frame –
as the slower the memories,
the faster they came and the longer they’d last
it would tighten their hold,
and the closer they’d weave they would blindfold
and frighten,
and once I was frozen and broken,
– eyes widened –

they’d leave…

Perhaps fate will gift me
a shift from my history,
to bask in my victory
and mask my past injuries
and race to new mysteries
and questions,
unanswered,
and answers, un-asked
but desperately fancied
as I take on this task
to have finally been caste,
to have grown from my hate,
to have flown past a place
where my purpose was faceless
to race to a moment I have hungered to taste
in a time I had dreamt of
instead of erased –

to a piece of the peace I deserve,
and a truth to embrace.

Will the aching forsake me at last
and the healing re-take me – its journey as vast
as the path it will trace
to re-shape me,
I ask,
and will it profess to regress to
a time I could heave less,
bereaved less, and
survive long enough to emerge
at my boldest and best?

The answer,
is
“yes”.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 13 April 2018

JEZABEL

My cat just died in my lap.

She was lots of fun when she was young, but then she started to get fat, and then got fatter than that… she got bumpy and her spine curled up and then her bumps got lumpy, and she started to appear weighted down and went less and less on our beds and kept more to the ground when she got too chunky.

She limped and she wobbled and her head bobbled and in her later days her breathing got faster and I didn’t think she’d last much longer, but, nevertheless, she didn’t weaken – it appeared she got stronger.

But clearly I was seeing it wrong. Her breaths became shorter and she stopped eating and kept her eyes open, and all the while she was staring and looking and shaking and no longer interested in the noise we were making as we called her name.

I picked her up many times and she roused from her waking dream but she didn’t seem to want to ‘be’. I desperately wished I could help her, release her, slow her breathing and give her peace and ease her.

And then she got colder, and when I held her it was like I was holding a boulder.

It hurt her to breathe. I could see her pain through her fear and I gently told her over and over that she can pass… I was here… and before long, her breathing slowed and then she spasm’d, and as I held her I knew she was close to the chasm, shaking and numb in my hands.

She tried once more to stand but she spasm’d again and her jaw grew wider and I could almost see right down inside her as she laboured to breathe while her heart gave out.

I cried when I looked through her eyes as she looked back knowing it was her time to die, allowing me to watch her once bright spark in that final moment subside.

I counted to 5 and I told her it’s okay to not be alive.

I’m sure she knew what I’d said as she rested her tired body on my skirt and lay there bravely, blissfully dead; a part of me journeying with her as I stroked her lifeless – but beautiful – feline head.

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 7th April, 2017