Sleep sweetly, dear empath

“In time, you will learn to untangle the tongue,

To face the truth that’s been living in your throat.”

The words by Upile Chisala are what I commit to resolve this year. To untangle my tongue and learn and say the things I've been meaning to say.

The morning of the performance began as a cloudy Saturday. And I immediately took to my pen, because the clouds were bringing me words that I needed to savour. Here is the poem I wrote down below:

Upon your arrival

Watch as the weather and the wether supports you

And yet you lament at it

Watch as the weather rains,

Just as you finally put your washing out

Inconveniencing you with its blessings

Letting you know, directly and clearly, your woes have been heard

I am here to wash the worry away

And yet you lament. You condemn

As if the sky has not taken the sacred duty of crying for you

Sharing with you, your tears

And those choices you take so long in choosing,

Doubt distracting you,

Asking whether this? While weathering that.

They are here; you have arrived.

That night, the words did not come out. All week, I had been holding the weght of others, pouring enhtusiam and encouragement int the, And the whole time, i forgot about my gentle spirit and strong heart. But more importantly, I forgot that my heart was just trying to be gentle, while my spirit was staying string. I forgot I was an empath, and I do things to escape the wegiht of all this love I feel. So this year I will take care of my throat and my heart, and I will quite the cigarettes some day, but I will care my deeply for them. More attentively than the external habits I need to break. I will break the habits of shame and guilt down even more, to where they are mere dust particles that look like gold. And bring forgiveness to everything, because I am living in my late and paternal grandmother's home after some 14 years apart from my maternal family, and I am learning many things. Some I have figured out, some I am still figuring out. And I know that I don't want to be angry and disconnected for 14 or 40 years like those who have come directly for me have been. I don't want their ache, because i have felt it. This year, I promise to cry more. And to write about it when I cry, and sometimes, I will be brave enough to share that. And in sharing, I know I will heal my heart in big ways. Look the shadows right in their silhouettes and tell them: "I see you there, you are welcome here. But only to make the view more beautiful."

This year, I don't promise to quit smoking right away. Instead, I will do it my way. Write away. I will dedicate a moment to journal at least one word of the day, or one thought, just to sit with myself and understand the shadows more and then when I understand them better, can work better with them, or move on, as all dependent relationships do. And I will read more about relationships, and finally accept how important they are to me instead of trying to cast them out at every full moon. And then I'll actually work towards publishing that anthology I'be been writing about love. And I will begin here, all on Vocal, on these online safe spaces of opportunity in the form of shoulders to rest upon, and strangers' eyes as generous ears. This year, I will trust y teacher to come in many forms, even if that has been the eprformance of stage fright. Allowing me to afce it, so we can finally gain closure from our fights and move on. ANd I will say more metta meditations, and keep returning to this old one since I forst found it, and always shows up as relevant.

Here is a poem I wrote abut my ex lover, that began as a poem and turned into a confessional letter. And this year, I promise I'll read it to him and send him all the voice notes I meant to. But not before I learn to regulate my nervous system as I do, or rather, through content and art and a throat chakra I am in the process of unblocking, I will share these words with him. And when I do, I promise to come back here and share them with you:

When you arrive

Inspired by you - and a little snail’s trail in the shape of a Z

When you arrive

My curls will smell lovely

And I will prepare the best bounce just for you

I won’t smell like tobacco anymore

And I’ll taste better than before

Remember how you loved that taste?

I hope next time it’s even sweeter, the most satisfying that I can serve

Generous, hearty, longer lasting

Spice up your night life, like you deserve

And upon your arrival there’ll be flowers

To celebrate your coming, of course

And we’ll shed the petals in the bathtub

And wade together in the water as she whispers,

With a delightful cheek I am sure, to the tap or the basin, or whichever orifice is listening really: instructing them: ‘drip a bit!

Let them laugh. Be warm, be childlike, flow and play; stay kind”

And we will laugh as they oblige

When you arrive, mingling with the moon

I will hold you in a hug

(and I may never want to let you go

— but I will)

But I will hold onto it, and breathe you in

Because when you arrive

I’ll take that breath I’ve been waiting to take

And speak slower or softer

Or maybe I’ll rhyme, and surely I’ll make mistakes and fumble

and

sometimes I’ll change it up

But we’ll know that now.

And I’ll know you better too

I’ll have done all that work

I didn’t get to do before you arrived

I will have shed all the layers that needed shedding before I could really surrender to your sweetness

And this time, I hope you will surrender to mine

Because honey I am so sweet for you

And sometimes I say silly sounding things and I want to share them with you but can I even call you my honey? Does it sound unnatural coming off my lips? Or would you rather just lick some from my lips while I call you homie like I do? And let you do those things that you so easily do. And you may not always hear it from my lips. But I want to be sweet for you. And to share my imagination with you. I’ve thought so many times about how it will be to feel you again and if I am deeply honest with you, which I will always try to be. I am scared. Scared to share with you. Scared because I have shared you. And becauseI am more long-winded than the other poets, and probably a bit sillier too. And if I remember correctly, I was a little awkward too. And that I liked songs that are slower than you do, and I preferred sex that was slower than you do. Served myself to you raw before, I was not as well-seasoned but I will get there

— when you arrive

And to be honest. I think I’m meant to be doing that with you first. Because most of the things I’ve said to you are through voice notes and poems that never quite got to you. And I am scared to share them with you, and worried that some of my thoughts will turn you away. I am scared. Scared to allow moments of passion to momentarily distort the memory of my promises to be soft when we turn up the heat, and not in the bedroom or the kitchen this time. Scared that I may forget my promises, or to invite grace into the conversation sometimes, but I hope you will remind me of them. Hold me to nothing, but trust in me, please. Trust that I can handle the flames and I am ready to walk through them with you, leaving nothing behind this time, transmuting ash we will alchemise into gold straight away.

And if I am being honest,

I am worried because I have turned up the flavor, I have increased my spice.

But I hope you will be ready to handle me;

as we bend the laws of our bodies and time.

And after the heat, I hope I can quench your thirsts.

I look forward to seeing you again,

I want to swallow you whole this time.

And I will be -

much kinder to you

More attentive and communicative

Because I’ve been craving you

And swimming in between love and lust and distrust

For too many months now

And when you arrive

I hope that you finger my curls, softly and gently

And tell me that it’s all good now

I hope you caress me in that way that you do

Or did.

And now all I’m thinking about is that the only caressing you’re doing is to another woman and I don’t even know who she is or when or even if, but

If you arrive,

I don’t promise that there won’t be days that I’m a bit messier, and that your fingers won’t run through my hair as easily anymore, and perhaps I won’t feel as soft and as sweet as when you arrived. But I promise this time will be better, and I promise to continue to do the work. Because I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.

And it’s been surely more than some 600 days

and I’ve never been good at maths

and I’ll leave you to that,

because *takes a deep breath*

If you arrive

I will love you louder than I did before

And touch you more tenderly,

because I know it’s you that I still adore

And if my dream could come true,

it would be you walking through the door

And I still find myself rhyming for you

Even when it doesn’t sound good anymore

But I think you’re beautiful

And that’s what you would usually say

And that you’re handsome

And this time I’ll hold your hand, some

And I’ll always try and play

And I know better now where the aches lie.

And because I am stronger now

- this time, I will hold you better when you cry

And I have learned patience

- because it’s been some, 700 plus days? I can’t tell.

And I’m sure I’ll look it up, but it may take me a while to get to and you'd be quicker at that and the days don’t matter anyway anymore because when you arrive,

I hope we can come together

And perhaps this time you will stay.

And the snails will tell me you’re coming,

They have left a trail here in your name.

(Thank you for being here with me. May you be well.)