[best laid plans]

“nothing we do is completely out of sense. everything tends to be intentional. but we don’t often accept the reality. that our mind is able to conjure up ideas so impure and unconventional.”

[what the fuck is love??

is it permission?

is it allowing yourself to get stabbed?

twisted and tied like a vine

blood dripping on your spine, well

isn’t red your favorite color?

but what is the point if you already do a wondeful job

without the need of love in you back

to stab yourself in the stomach

winding yourself to the bottom of the lake

there must something else in the trade.

something that is not pain.]


If you go out to a park

You’ll see squirrels climbing trees

Oaks that willingly yield their fruit

Not defending themselves in any way

For years and years

Have squirrels stolen their seed

For years and years

Have trees remained completely still

Allowing things to be taken from them

There must be something else in the trade.


The other day I read that squirrels

Will often bury the acorn they were bestowed upon

But most of the time forget where.

For years and years

Have oaks given their fruit knowing

That the squirrels would lose them

So it will break the ground and be growing.

To the squirrel, the tree was an easy source of food and shelter

To the tree in its slumber

The squirrel was hope for prosperity.

The strength of their relationship

Came for each other’s weakness

One unable to defend itself

The other had a cognitive disadvantage.


They were a perfect trade.


For some of us, love is hard to receive

Easy to give

And we do have to be waiting

To see the fruit breaking

Into a tree that will be standing

Winters and summers when they come along

A tree that with its branches will turn the wind into a song.

Our benefit comes with some delay.


Is love allowing some pain?

Selling some time?

For delayed streams of delight

Rain breaking the drought

For growth.


Love is a trade you choose to make.


Love was never part of my plan.

Quote unquote “I’m independant”

I wanted to rely on myself

But I wasn’t able to live in loneliness and pay its rent

Because the price of my ego and stubborness

Was that the fruit I wasn’t ready to yield

Grew bitter on my limbs.


I didn’t understand what it meant

I thought of love as a weakness

Even the one I should have had for myself.


Now I can look back

At my mother who took my childhood away

But still loved me and ruined her own life, too

Because that is a trade she was willing to do.

At the people who neglected or abused me

Including myself. The worst abuser of all.

Murderer if happy thoughts. Rapist of self-esteem.

At my plans that didn’t go as planned

But without which

Today I wouldn’t be healing

Today I wouldn’t be learning

Now I am thankful for the failure

I’m on my way for more pleasure

Even if it still involves a bit of pain.


In reality,

I am as much the squirrel as the tree

And it is one of the hardest things to do

To yield a fruit to yourself, too

And to let it be.

To give and receive,

You on both ends


Self love is a trade.

Where you can rely on your weaknesses

To grow and prosper.

And there is something else in the trade.

Now I can bleed while loving myself

I can trust my hands with my own fruits

And trust that I will lose them.

And that there is something for me in the end.

Self-love was maybe never part of my plan.

But now I am willing to do the trade.

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