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You look

You must have discarded
a whole heap of dirty garb
to get that clean

How did you
shed the rust
of your unhelpful relatives?
How did you free
the remedy of your inherent habits?
Can you take it for what it is
if you bring
it out of me?

Nature has Her ways, souls
rubbing souls
for Earthly calibration
I am the catalyst
You are the Scientist’s prescription
for a healthy heart
Good health
is sensitive to unhealthy servants
and no one knows it more than you
how even the undeserving have a purpose
“There’s nothing more necessary
than the unnecessary”
There’s nothing more divine than losing your religion

As I sit
with you
under the toenail of a
closed cathedral
I wonder, what if
out of the 144,000
you were the first

When the question hitches a ride with
the westbound wind
you catch on too with your photo-maker
causing a traffic jam raising the blade
of your eyebrow all to say without sound:
I’d be the first to refuse

See, this is why I like you
you’re no anchor
no black hole ether

You just haven’t met anyone
who catches light
like you yet

Britta B.

Stewing in the skin of my inward eye
probable and prone to tunnel vision
I satisfy
the perversity of repetition

When impulse takes me by the hand
we give substance to silhouettes
We do what we must
to quiet the fuss

Out to seek
what is seeking me
Hunting for a higher Truth

People hand the best they can
not the way
you want them to

When I say, I have no words
I’m not trying hard enough
When I say, I have no choice
my mind’s been made up

We do what we must
to quiet the fuss

With my voice, I collapse
I’ve never had my heart broken
only an ego scratched
and my desire requires many reminders

Harmonious woman, you deliver life
everything else passes or purely assists
Don’t try to make love
it already exists

And excuse
my imposition
but consider the privilege
it is to consider the position

you’re in

isn’t as much as what you leave
as it is
to where you return

When will you learn you have so much to learn?

Oh, we do what

Britta B.

With my impatience
I can build a Ruin in a day
and let it ruin my whole week

Britta B.

Ever since I was born I can remember
I both hated myself and wanted
to make people’s lives better.
I learned very slowly
that these two energies don’t
work together, they work against each other.

Sometimes, I still hate myself
but I know this is a passing feeling or thought
that I am stronger than. That I am loved despite this.

But what will always be a part of me is my
undying urge to make a difference.
                                              To change somebody.
                                              To inspire and encourage.

Britta B.

sitting on these slanted rocks
thinking ’bout these slanted thoughts
contemplating on jumping
into this lake or
falling back in love.

Britta B.

But I can’t confess how lonely it gets
to sit in a room full of all your favourite things

To stare

the whole night through
at the ground (or the bottom of something)
of a brother who never calls
and a friend who always answers

I am the only one here.
I am the only one here.

And to stay here (everywhere I go)

alone, attached

to some detachment that bribes me into
laughing at the world every time I fall; God forbid
I show any signs of weakness

Britta B.

I call your name, scratch

Why did I do that?

Scratch again

My neck, itchy
patterned with crusty, dry patches
so I scratch at it
until the patches become smooth
or numb

Until I can’t say your name out loud anymore
without burning

Somewhere between these moments I left-side my obsession
I shoulder the lights out of these constant
thoughts provoking postponed personal development
Or maybe my obsession tackled me, pinned me down
and sucked the light out from my eyes
either way
I was married to a split moment and I noticed:
An addiction
is just an itch that feels like
will never go away
It’s constantly distracting
It’s unimportantly urgent
and it’s so reasonable to scratch, at first…

I scratch
scratch, scratch
scratch until I
carve myself into halves (halves, for Christ’s sake)
until those halves become halves
and those halves are halved
and all that I have
isn’t good enough for you?

Britta B.

I can be honest if you want me to
but I’d much rather lie…
beside you
I’m sorry, I’m evil like that.

Last week, my first weakened thoughts
fell down like ash to a filter-less lit stash of some hash
around the compassionate desire to have a companion;
I thought I needed something to hold on to
something to let me command it
I wanted control

And now, I find power in pleasing you
Like teasing a pet with food, I rattle my hand in the air
and watch as you pant with joy and jump from your seat for me

To you, my hands are full but I know, I’m filled with nothing

And still,
I tease you, and tease you
to ease
my pain.

Britta B.

this is personal,
the real me

I am afraid to get out of bed most days
because I don’t think I can live up to who I am
…and I blame the linen

for not letting me go

yet I am rejected
I am incongruent,
mispronounced in frequent conversations
that I’m convinced people are having about me
but just because I can hear their voices between my eyes
it doesn’t mean that I can see them

I couldn’t recognize myself in a fitting room
so who’s to say I know what belongs?

the lips of my ears mouth the words, “Get up,
you’ve been through much worse” as the grind of my forehead against the wall
barks back, “I know, but this still hurts”

this still hurts; it hurts
to be this still

every second

Britta B.