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through fear and love,
metal casings, green gas,
shouts and batons
in the streets where your hand met mine
and we ran.

i have been searching
for that feeling.
in my garden, rainbow chard,
where the magenta tendrils reach upwards.
things beautiful, delicate, precious, unknown.
writing questions in the soil

what is this
inside of you and me? what has grown?
beyond just intimacy born of trauma,
beyond nights spent crying on your shoulder
days outside of jails...
beyond the implications of our gender,
the familiarity of you and your voice,
beyond just time spent
side by side.

questions like
would we have been friends
even if these things hadn't happened?

knowing your mannerism
what you would say, do, feel, express.
knowing the
muscles and
bones and
contours of your body
so intimately,
but never sexually, never romantically,
never lustfully.
but maybe, lovingly
maybe longingly.

maybe in a way
that only best friends know
each other or
only a sister could know her brother...

but no.
lines are blurring in my perception
no borders
no gods
no masters
no slaves
wonderment. confusion and curiosity

i wonder what your favorite
toy was as a kid and
how your lips feel,
what it's like to sleep
in your arms. what the reality
of that would/could be.
and where that would leave
the questions of us,
of who we are, together.

trudging through
things hard, secret, deep seeded, delicate, unknown.
hoping to understand
hoping to create that line
that could go
between friend or brother or comrade
or lover or partner.
feelings harbored in the wake
of tragedy
and what tragedy could become of
unrequited love and
unrequited revolution
(or worst of all
lose of you completely)

and the consequences on
friendship, on future, on organizations, on
anything or everything. the nature of this
i don't even know.
only the nature of you

which could bring my heart to it's knees.

somewhere on the road
or in a book
i read
"i'd rather die on my feet
than live on my knees"

that being said
no matter what, no matter how or where
don't know if i could live
without you. and whether it's you
as a friend, confidant, familiar, brother,
partner in crime
or lover
doesn't matter.
as long as in that moment of
trauma or tear gas or catastrophe
(or zombie apocalypse?)
your hand meets mine.

someday could be today...

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The following comments are for "intimacy born of trauma"
by ruina

nice poem, but too long.

( Posted by: Dgreat [Member] On: March 24, 2009 )

what is this?
"But not all people are going to like everything you write"
I think this might be the best advice i've ever received. not to say that it's not important to keep readers interested, but it's impossible to please everyone. and it never hurts to be reminded of that. Thank You!!

I'm glad you appreciate the length and respect the journey. there were even more words/feelings/concepts i could have put into it, but i picked everything very carefully and wouldn't have wanted to take anything out...


( Posted by: ruina [Member] On: March 25, 2009 )

my view may not be in line with other great poets strictly, but i only consider the intrepretation. Ruina thanks for your understanding

( Posted by: Dgreat [Member] On: March 26, 2009 )

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