What is the weight of a soul
That has never been broken?
What is the weight of skin,
Not pressed toward the earth,
By the weight of its scars?
What is the worth of a name,
Never screamed, never dragged
In and out of a deep ocean, where tears mix with blood,
And sweat turns into the only feast in sight.
What is the worth of love,
That lasts forever, that was perfect in every way,
That was endless, practiced, predictable,
Never seeing a single tear, until you wake up and die.
What does it mean to be alive,
To live and die, to expand and contract, to love and hate,
To cry and laugh, to remain oblivious and feel it all,
To make yourself heavy, just to make yourself light?
What does it mean to die,
To sleep and wake again, to play a song to have it end,
to fall and never get up, to discover the weight of your soul,
Only to experience pain that feels like the bottom of the ocean,
It was peaceful; you were an explorer; you went where you wanted to go,
Only to be crushed by the permeating weight of nothingness.
What is the weight of a soul,
That holds its heart in place with its left hand,
Desperate to see beauty; desperate for before; desperate for always.
What is life, other than loss and separation, thinking you have found yourself,
Only to lose everything again, becoming invisible to how you were seen.
What is the weight of a soul,
Who craves suffering because it makes them feel beautiful,
Who loves someone who is everything that they could never be,
Because the weight of a soul is so heavy, that they could never
Forget the feeling of surrendering to this being.
What is beauty, other than misery?
Love, other than desperation?
Passion, other than longing?
And satisfaction, other than endurance?
What is the worth of a tear that runs down your cheek,
Never seen by a lover, never seen by an enemy?
What makes the sunset so much more beautiful
when you are searching for something that you cannot name?
What is the weight of a soul,
When it sees its search and knows its name,
Drops its stones, broken and untamed?
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