the difference between what we want and what we get
is the little thin line of forgetfulness
because what we desire and what we don’t are
hooked up our ribcages like straight jackets , like paragraphs
written on our ribs. Instead, we try to read, only references
because the more we try to reach for what we want
the more we tear and the hollower we become
and if we’d known this when we were young
we would have assaulted beauty in its many forms
by pouncing on each second to take as much as we could
years ago, yawns scratched dreams and memories
on beds filled with love and no demands, only warmth

we want to forget how we loved, and to those people
we are sorry we didn’t have the strength to insult
or admit how we thought they were so beautiful
that we wanted it that way so someday, we would remind them
how we shook with rage when they didn’t notice
how much we tried to separate the artist from the romantic
because we wanted clarity
to understand if the muse or the solemn indiscretion of the heart
drove Beethoven to compose Fur Elise for Therese
but nothing! nothing we could understand

at present
there are letters of inconsistencies
like happiness and sadness, wrung inside our hearts
and there is so much we would like to do
so much we would like to take but we restrain
showing how grateful we are that someone could care about us
and want nothing in return
we would rather forget the void of incompleteness
if we knew how to locate the winds ashtray
so we could wipe the past and repulse the thrill of experience

but every day, we live on bare minimums
we’d rather suppress the love we feel than admit
the unmentionable, the prohibited love we feel for another
we’d rather forget to pick up the phone or reply to the ones we desire
for how shameful it is to burst into flowers for the one that awoke such curiosity in our lives
we’d rather wilt before confessional portraits are hung
for us in museums, labeled circa (those years) … to remember
days when we slapped God with rituals of passions
that he had to counter-check from his blueprints if indeed he wanted
it to be so sweet, so fulfilling … that we could utilize one night’s moon
to build forever from a moment we treasured
but we malfunctioned and callously slipped into a comatose
of bygones, of desperate attempts to quell the disquieting foray of love

and before we knew it, we now burn with the desire to disappear
into rainforests and donate our bodies to nature, to prolong the tragedy
of forgetting how to reach for what is ours
yet we are glad that we didn’t lose the pain

© Eddy Ongili 2016


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