perseverance

—On Love, Marina Tsvetaeva

in the land of despair,

who wants an heir.

family glares at me confused.

they refuse to comprehend the words i have used.

but a living being i will not bare

for others satisfaction alone.

what a cruel act of conceit it would be,

to birth life for whom i have no care.

in a world of lost souls

i could not bare to add one more,

feed it the same lies i was once fed

and watch it fall apart

until it feels the need to scream from its chest

your hands are not beneath my blouse

that is not my desire

is it despair that you feel?

is my presence no longer your craving?

no more letters and sighs

no more butterflies at sight

bodily transactions the only proof of love

or what disguised itself as loving

in the new era to not feel ones skin

is to not feel ones warmth

words no longer allowed

the new era upon lovers.