I have been your sponge where I should have been your mirrorI have let my tears roll down the slippery
surface of what used to be
my soft and warm and fluffy, expansive, absorbent insides.
I let them drop on the grainy desert beneath your swollen feet,
where they watered the cracks
of your dried-out land. An oasis sprouted
there were you buried the map to your soul
It is
built on the feelings of the overflowing river
pouring out of my fingertips, softly painting
the bright colours of my imagination onto your
aching skin, I heard the call of a cellular
begging for the lightness of being,
the almost silenced call to become the electricity that
connects the heavens and earth, once again.
I was your sponge where I should have been your mirror
I gave you the pain that should have been mine
to transform into pettals of love for the way my body is
saving my life.
I am now back in my forest, my jungle, my overflowing stream.
Here, I became
silent again
Beneath the surface of the water, there where the tension starts to break,
I heard the whispers of the oisters, working and working and working
away the days,
gritting pearls without complaining
and they sang to me from beneath:
You are a sponge on the inside, a mirror on the outside
you are a sponge on the inside, a mirror on the outside
You are a sponge on the inside, a mirror on the outside
You are.
They sang to me from beneath until it reached
the flesh of my being, the forest that awaited me
they sang and sang until I believed again
I am a sponge on the inside, a mirror on the outside
I am.
