A slam poem; dedicated to a dear friend.

“When we are learning the world, we know things we cannot say how we know. When we are relearning the world in the aftermath of a loss, we feel things we had almost forgotten, old things, beneath the seat of reason.
[…]
When we talk about love, we go back to the start, to pinpoint the moment of free fall.”
-Meghan O’Rourke, from her memoir The Long Goodbye.

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        Making Sense of it All, is a slam poem dedicated to a dear friend. Whom, I have seen struggle for months, preoccupied on thoughts of desertion- from the one person whom she loves, and whom she cannot completely- move on from.

I have observed- her boisterous smiles of lust and pride- within moments of her thinking of him. I have also, witnessed- her confidence dwindle and disintegrate- within moments of thinking of him. Her constant ‘toing and froing’ reminds me of how it use to feel- to be in the gravitational force of the ‘free fall’. 

It makes me realize; there is significant pleasure in ‘going back to the beginning’ and reminiscing the thoughts, the emotions, and the actions of having loved someone. Furthermore, there is also tremendous meaning in identifying the thoughts, the emotions, and the actions endured while- trying to land. Acknowledging that all the pain, was in fact, for your personal growth. The pain required you to find your own wings- and to learn how move on.

This slam poem is the beginning- of a familiar feeling. I certainly have felt these feelings before- and you probably have at some point, as well. I definitely know she is feeling them, right now. So, this is for you. It will all make sense- in the end.

Making Sense of it All

I cramp all my thoughts; recollect the past, and wander into thee abyss. 

The deep, bottomless pit- it leaves me disoriented and in a constant state of anxiety. It straps me down to believe in disappointment- with myself, and with the world around me.

To overcome my confusion I simply tell myself- and pretend- you simply, do not understand.

The tension finally loosens it’s grip.  

So- I can tell myself.

He is, and he always was- planning on coming back.

The ramifications of my thoughts, the butterflies- they flutter. They cram my stomach so tight- they overpower my unreachable desire.

I sit down. The constellations of my misery- they keep distracted.

Yes, and I can- smile again.

Except, five minutes later- you, someone whom actually loves me, snaps me back- to reason, and to my reality.

I’m angry- and I am annoyed with your utterance.

Because, it is you whom reminds me; no matter how many times I may ask. No matter how many times you may answer. The reasons why he isn’t coming back- will be, and always will be- the same answer. 

So I stand up- and dust the uncertainty right off my chest.

Yes, and I will try- and open my eyes.

I will try- and understand why you say- in the end- this is simply, for the best. 

-Chantal Lacoste

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