(I can't find the details for this painting, if you know who made it please let me know, I'd love to credit them)
Came At The Same Time As God
The second best night of God’s life was when God met God in a crowded room and without words almost understood. Shyly fed small talk to the furnace smile. Held hands going home, unbearably struck by the touch. Undressed shaking, lifetimes feeling ugly inside almost washing away in body fluids, shared breath, light. God rocked God in arms until almost felt enough, and came at the same time as God.
The first best night of God’s life was 9 months later, when God fell from between God’s bloody legs and again took first breath. God swore to God that God was a fucking miracle. Wired the fuses through flooding with God. Felt so safe in God’s arms.
Learned to crawl, walk, touch the edges. Learned that God burned, was broken, not allowed. That God would not always come when God cried out. Felt loved one moment for being something, hated for the same the next. Became ashamed of face. Still felt safe in arms, most of the time.
God told God shut the fuck up, don’t be stupid, there’s something wrong with you. Learned God wasn’t God. Had to struggle and fake it to be enough, to maybe be beloved. Decided everything was bullshit. Got ripped at the gym. Dressed slutty. Said Yes without knowing wanting. Said No with buried longing. Pretended not to give a fuck. Bought better stuff, then better stuff. Sometimes felt almost safe in arms.
Sat in judgment over God’s singing voice, entrepreneurial spirit, body, children, God. Watched God declare the tragic necessity of war on God. Voted, protested, argued, wept. Hated God for Hating God. Killed God for killing God. Pressed buttons, ate, watched things, slept. Killed, was killed, cheered at killing, forgot about killing, screamed at killing. Pressed buttons, ate, watched things, slept. Felt never safe in arms, sometimes.
One day saw across crowded rooms instantly and almost understood. Could love any, be with any, all was. Just wanted to hold so, remember, ugly fresh washed faces. Didn’t want to own, save, use to feel. Just to cross the space between without permission, without need. Stayed in the doorway watching paralysed whirlwind what believed what had to be in order to.
Just wanted to make feel safe feel beautiful.
From across rooms, from doorways, saw hair fall across necks, felt hands raise glasses, heard breath appear.
What did the poem speak to you in you, about your journeys with life and love? I'd love to hear in the comments.
Dave Rock is a prize-winning spoken word artist and storyteller, and a conscious writing, speaking and performing arts teacher. He's worked with thousands of people, including award-winning comedians, actors and inspirational figures.