
Slightly Wrong, Always Write.
An artistic place for the delightfully deranged.
Void
​
by
​
Aurora Matahari Raiment
&
​
G. Bennett Ulrich
​
​
I hate labels. Yet,
sometimes I need them
to rationalize.
​
I hate anything
that makes you hateful.
​
I hate the fear
of the knowledge
that I could conspire
to hurt you, when
all you have shown me
is kindness.
​
It's because we're two of a kind
and you're afraid
of the other you.
​
Afraid of myself?
Aren't we all?
​
Afraid of not truly knowing ourselves,
afraid of losing ourselves, not
of ourselves.
​
Fear is a four letter word...
Let's change it
--Make it real
so I can visualize...
Darkness maybe,
thickly enveloping me
--Isolation...
being alone,
yet confined...
Unable to reach out...
void.
​
Sometimes boundaries
can be the greatest freedoms.
Take this poem, for example,
we never said that we would only write in English,
yet we tend to--
we just know what works and we go with it.
The rules are unspoken
until they're broken,
then a simple word or phrase
brings us back to the point
that we work well together
and play well too.
It's not a chore--
It's more...
amore.
​
There are a lot of unspoken rules aren't there?
I like to believe that if they aren't verbalized,
they don't exist.
I think I am living slightly shrouded,
but you see right through me,
to the core,
knowing me and not walking away.
What makes you stay?
​
I've been burdened with sight
--and I can see that this is far more than
just right.
​
So you will wait out the monsoon,
the torrent of melancholy to find me
--hopefully restored,
and reaching out with open arms?
Will you wager the diamonds of your time,
or cast your pearls at swine?
​
Hope is reserved for those too afraid
to have faith.
I've seen the signs,
this deluge will end
and I will send out my dove to find land,
a strong and safe place to stand.
​
Will you stand alone?
I am not going to worry about the outcome anymore.
If this is a pairing of perfection,
then you and I will be writing late at night
for a million Phoebus falls.
And that takes out the sting slap immediacy.
​
So be it.
Reprinted with permission of authors