My medium
Would you kneel for love?
What are you called? Where are you from? Where are you going? What do you do? Where does it hurt most?
I want to get to know you. I want to love you. I want to be kind to you.
Please, allow me to be kind to you.
Why do you resist my love? What of your past makes my affection seem shallow?
It’s not possible to soothe the deaf with words. You my dear have not yet learned to read. How ironic, an illiterate writer. I can’t erase my frown. My face can’t tell you what my heart desperately wishes to. My dear, step outside and hear my voice… but you can’t move. You who walked the extra mile for hundreds are incapable of moving a muscle. Why can’t I see you? I want to see you. I should be able to see you. Can you see me?
You’re too delicate for my hands. I can’t reach out to you without drawing blood. I don’t know how to love you in a way that is sane.
You’re hiding in the fog.
But…
What if mirrors didn’t exist?
Maybe we were only meant to see ourselves through each other’s eyes.
Through his heart, you’re easier to love. For now, I’ll send my tireless messenger.
I’m called L. I come from privilege that’s chained to my leg. I’m going where I can be called by my name, unattached. I spread love and joy. It hurts the most under a star-less night sky.
