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No Art No Love No Tears
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I call life a water tank.
It continuously leaks from every little corner:
my nieceβs love,
my motherβs art,
my fatherβs tears when his father passed away.
Iβm clueless, no one has taught me how to put duct tapes to right places,
how to stop things from overflowing,
how not to overflow myself.
These tiny water drops are calling me to join their reckless dance,
but Iβm used to floating between the tides.
It does not alarm me anymore,
the aches:
knowing your first love already had theirs,
how little it matters if thereβs an outer space,
how home is not a person and sometimes-
not even a place.
I call life a water tank,
my presence – running from the heaviness of it being motionless:
It stands still
I pass by
I ignore it.
And for my fragility
whatever offerings this world might have,
Iβll protect my flaws as if theyβre only thing I donβt have to mend.
With these colorless springs I could live off another thousand years,
If I get to neglect all this love,
the art
and the tears.
Previously published by Ariel Publishing.
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