By Ciara Swan
Sometimes when I forget the cyst of love circulating throughout all of my lymph nodes and spiraling,
Nervously in the drumming of my heart
I carry loose cannons of self-deprecation and guilt,
Packaged in plastic baggage
There is taxation on the malleable; and my stress is spent.
What is wrapped inside of a calm?
My mind might add, “the psyche, or the human flaw of wanting to fix what is already fix(ed)”
There are three embodiments within one physical body;
The intuit, the physical, and the spirit.
All of them branch into various attributes and sometimes I get lost in the intersected quarrel of them all.
Fix(ed). My body is fixed, or it keeps on fix(ing).
My mind is fixed and keeps on fix(ating).
My spirit is fixed and keeps on; it’s fix(ture).
And a scar is but a healed ailment, although it is visible,
It is only a residuum of what has been conquered,
or in the lulls of overcoming.
My scars are fixed.
They were inside of me long before I could calculate their meaning
and they evolved into physical blockades over time — I worked in over time — I’m mind.
I’m steady working in over time to sustain a mine.
There is no fear.
Sometimes they treble across my path like what is tempestuous
and for so long I thought the antidote was to keep moving.
To keep distracting those fears.
To keep re-directing them.
And then something came to me.
I needed to be still.
I still need to be still.
In fact, I haven’t been for so long, I am now regaining conscious of my conscience.
My voices are not quiet.
My breaths are long and deep.
My heart still hurts at so much love.
My mind still weeps with thoughts of what I cannot control.
But now I am recalling comfort in that dark.
In that unknown.
I am dwelling there with only candlelight
And she flickers every time we both become aware of what was, what is and is to come.
I am thankful for her.
She is an extension in and of and out of myself.
We are scarred.
We are imperfect and we keep learning together.
There is only one formula =
ginger+honey+lemon+smells, stretch, stretch, sleep+water and water and phone calls home+being home+hugs+laughter+tears and time and time and time and time
Ciara “Cc” Swan is a poet from Oakland, CA. She received a Bachelor’s Degree in Sociology at the University of San Francisco. As a current graduate student at the School of the Art Institute, Chicago, Cc dawdles with a modern deconstructionist framework of language via sociological and philosophical platforms of “black sexual politics”. She is an analytical hermit and creator, and a lover of family and ever-finding spiritualism; who also sporadically attempts neo-soul singing and jazz-skatting with appropriations of funk via Logic Pro and Garage Band.