Finding a Touching Point …

While I love writing, I also follow a few … actually, very few … other blogs. One of the blogs I do follow … one might say religiously, is that of “my little sister”. She isn’t my sister by blood, though at times I wish she was. At other times she is frustrating to the point of hair-pulling. But I still love her in that way we love a dear friend.

She is a prolific writer, a talented photographer, a comedienne … in that she has a warped sense of humour and a worrier … of sorts. When I first met her I really did not like her at all. This is something she knows … I told her and then explained why. But as the days, weeks, months and years passed, I learned that she wasn’t always as I first perceived her … and I’m thankful that I gave her a chance to ‘grow on me’.

I have been given her permission to reprint her poem here. I’m proud to share it with you all. I love it when I write a poem and someone comments that it took them somewhere or painted a picture for them or they could relate to it. That is exactly what this poem did to/for me. Thank you for sharing this with me and for allowing me to share it with others.


You asked me if it was always this intense and
I didn’t know what to say because
Yes it was / no it wasn’t
I asked Lisa if it had always been intense for her and
She said that I have a way of unsettling people
I didn’t know what to say to you except that
I was willing to feign complete indifference to spend another minute with you

When you said, “I love you,” for the first time
I thought I was going to throw up but
I said I loved you back because it was true and I
Had been so afraid you didn’t really care at all
And it was like the butterflies you first gave me
Had morphed into sparrows flying around my abdomen

And some nights there are chasms between us
And I don’t even know if I can cross the bridge
You throw for me to walk across
But I do and you’ve stuck around, again
And I don’t know why, but I’m grateful for it

And some nights my chest feels like it has been
Cleaved open and I’m lying exposed on the bed
Yet you never abuse that privilege so
I crawl inside you, bleeding and bruised and
Let the solace of your words break me again and again
So I can rebuild myself in the morning’s pale glow

You asked me if it was always this intense and
I didn’t know what to say because
Nothing else mattered in that moment but the tension between me and you.

Ilysse Weisenfeld

Her tumblr can be found here.
Picture also by Ilysse Weisenfeld

This entry was posted in Musings and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Finding a Touching Point …

  1. OfMythAndBullshit says:

    I’m humbled you enjoyed it enough to repost it.

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