I’ve tried my hand at amicability,
but I much prefer loneliness.
The dispute you have with yourself,
between wearing a mask for the sake of social harmony,
or keeping social harmony,
by removing yourself to loneliness.
I’ll take the later thanks.
Wesam El dahabi
What do you find at the end of it all,
at cutting out bits,
Alot of loneliness,
inside an outer display of comical amicability.
until the newer version of you,
drags the older down,
to stand on his shoulders for a breath.
Fucken savages we are.
I work with a man who doesn’t know how to leak,
a suffering man,
I feel like showing him what his hurt looks like,
perhaps others will feel less pain around him,
he equates strength with dominance,
he needs to learn how to leak,
and let grief be his poetry.
He doesn’t respond to death,
because he makes excuses for life.
he likes to shoot animals,
call it sport,
beating defenceless things keeps him alive.
I play dead all the time,
he doesn’t like that he can’t kill me,
his him-ness is lonelier than I am.
Funny enough, I’m kinder to him than anyone else at work.
Having too much reservation will do that to you.
Having so much to say but being sensitive to others may hinder your ability to actually say it. There you are, mouth swollen with things you want to give birth to, and you abort, you self abort, just for the greater good.
But there is no feeling good about an abortion, a part of you is dying after all.
Perhaps the withholding has a positive outcome if you can channel it. All my stillborns manifest into a calmer expression. Perhaps the patience allows a bit of simmering, a bit of editing before I release something incoherent.
It’s a nice way to deceive yourself, that being quiet is worth it.
What’s left to do except remove yourself from their company.
If convincing them ends up a story about them,
then it’s a fruitless engagement.
You can’t convince someone about yourself,
if they want to make it about themselves,
neither will you convince yourself,
if you want to make it about them.
My book on loneliness was smeared,
here I am,
hoping for cleanliness, to strip away people,
that purge has been likened,
but a page has my fingerprint on it.
In his eagerness to kindness,
the barista stained the side of the cup,
my fingers have become less sensitive,
a mixture of winter and hand cleansers taking their toll,
heedless to wetness,
I smudge a page with Rwandan batch brew,
tamarind, smoke, and I can’t tell what else,
they’re good beans.
This page on loneliness,
now a coffee stained page,
has been made beautiful by the generosity of my barista,
today he sees me,
I’m forced out of loneliness.
It takes a total ingrate to continue to withdraw when an act of kindness is brought forward to them. I wanted to be alone, I drove far away just to read and drink a cup or two, but four cups later and my barista taught me why engaging in the world is a higher and more noble act than withdrawing from it. Facing your agony, going against your nature, perhaps reciprocating the kindness on to others, is a higher station.
Perhaps the biggest obstacle,
to being able to forgive,
is immunity to amnesia.
Now there’s something to envy,
if ever I wished an ill upon myself.
-Wesam El dahabi
is it really the disease we think it is,
how wonderful to be able to let go,
like a giant eraser having its way with your mind,
able to be kind.