5. Passion

5. Passion (poem)

 

all about you, then

all about me

all about rhythm and

riptides of motion

stirring, then boiling,

then cascading down

 

flailing arms

and seizures of the soul

 

like a ticking bomb in the pit of my stomach

feeling like I’ll explode any second

physically can’t find the words to

express the Passion that overwhelms

 

like everything I am has been

preparing itself for this moment

for this person

for this time

 

when finally, I can release all of this anguish

all of this joy and love and

every other emotion I’ve ever had inside

and give it to someone

wrapped neatly in a too-large refrigerator box

with recycled Christmas wrapping paper and a bow

deceiving like Pandora’s box

if you open it, you might be swept away

 

my Passion is like a hurricane

it submerges

and pushes people

it’s beautiful, some say

what a beautiful soul to feel that way

but one by one they trickle down the drain

and one day I look around and no one’s there.

 

it’s a painful realization to come to

the conclusion that

the Passion that makes me who I am

is the very thing that so many people

cannot stand about me

 

 

all of these emotions are ingrown so deep

they’re an old oak that is much older than me

whose roots tangle in my legs and whose trunk makes its way up my spine

and whose branches sprout from my brain

that has overtaken every inch of my body

 

these feelings that are more sophisticated, more deep

than a 20-something mind

but which I am stuck with.

 

I find they’ve slowly become who I am

the more and more I learn about myself,

I learn to embrace Passion

that so unwelcomed barged through my door

now I welcome it with a cup of tea and a

conversation on philosophy.

Passion is a wise companion.

 

I tell myself that the reason people

condemn my dearest Passion is that

they just misunderstand.

maybe they’re jealous, because

they can’t have such a learned, wise old friend

maybe they’re just terrified

because they haven’t found who

they are

yet

I tell myself this.

 

my Passion brings me beautiful things

that I wouldn’t trade for any other personality

if getting rid of it meant more popularity,

I’d keep it around for sure.

 

it swells and grows my poetry

and it fuels my need for self-improvement

it gives me reasons to live, and to find

the meaning of life, and of me

it brings me joy,

and it brings me sorrow too.

 

but it teaches me that sorrow can be just as beautiful

if not more

than flippant joy or

shallow laughter

or hypocritical apathy parading as peace

 

I’ve learned to love the feeling of

sobbing ‘til I can’t breathe

because all it means is a release of something

I had jailed somewhere deep in me

that’s finally squirming its way out so

I can have some peace.

 

my Passion also gets me into trouble.

like bursting into tears

when I see a cute baby

or when I accidentally set off my boss’s house alarm

or when I find it thrilling to say the most biting words

when I am so devotedly angry.

 

it leads me to a romance

that will scrape the insides out of me

my nose, my knees, my elbows,

and it keeps me hanging on

to a jagged cliffside while my hands bleed

 

it pressures me into kissing in the back of cars

and compromising my morality

and it breaks my back on the rare occasions

when I just want to feel nothing

 

it coerces me into buying gifts and bringing coffee and

pouring out a servant’s heart for

someone who will never really love me

because you lack my Passion.

 

all of this, Passion tells me,

is simply for the sake of love.

 

the Notebook taught me wrong.

 

Passion isn’t for the weak,

but the strong who know when

to control it.

 

I don’t control it often enough,

perhaps

but I’m still on a road of self-discovery

where Passion is my companion

I’ll learn to draw the line eventually

maybe

 

but until then, I’ll ride the waves and

see where they take me

Passion is an unreliable friend sometimes,

letting me drink the sour milk in its fridge

driving off cliffs while I’m in the passenger seat

but at the end of the day, I will embrace it

because my darling Passion makes me

me.

 

and if you can’t accept it,

if you can’t approve of

our relationship

well, I don’t care.

I don’t think you’re hateful, I

just think you’re afraid

because depth and feeling and

dear, dear Passion

just like the monster under your bed

and the bats in your attic

it scares you.