Love Is The Message

One cold and rainy morning, as I dragged my reluctant body through the herd of 9-to-5 Wall Street commuters, departing the A train for work, I came across this mantra at the turnstile: AMPLIFY LOVE, DISSIPATE HATE. I was having a particularly bad week, as most folks were towards the end of winter, and the tiny cynic in me decided to brush this life lesson off, even though it stared me right in the face. The next morning, however, I could not ignore it as we met again at the turnstile. And the morning after that. And then the morning after the previous. Suddenly, I began to look forward to saying hello to this randomly placed fortune. I began to allow others to cut ahead of me, as we all made our way up the stairs to the exit, by taking slower steps and calculating the turns being made. All this math buzzing through my brain, so early in the morning, had a purpose. My daily primary objective was now to always position myself exactly where I needed to be, to push through the turnstile adorned with my daily horoscope. 

For a very long time, I thought the message was referring to my relationships with others. Don’t hate. Love thy neighbor. But it wasn’t until today that I realized the message was truly intended for my relationship with myself. Admittedly, my reaction to life's misfortunes have been to hang on to some devastatingly painful feelings. It has created a major blockage on the right-hand side of my brain.  I finally get it though. The day that we begin to stop hating ourselves will be the day that love, in its greatest form, will come pouring out of us... amplified. Yes, it’s a very simple idea and it’s been said before. But somehow, it feels new. This poem is the first step towards unclogging. I dedicate it to Yellow. 

You Are My 1999

When I am with you 

I am from cramped backseats

And deserted baseball fields.

It’s humid,

My skin is glowing warm red from the beer.

There is laughter

And the Cure.

I am an impatient giver

On a used apartment floor.

A glimmer of hope tangled in my hair.

 

You are the approaching summer,

Moving through rivers

Birthed by anxious pores.

The wind whips,

Sound flooding fury past diverging flesh.

There is need

And want.

You are a timid excavator

Plunging carelessly through Virgo.

A pedestal at your feet.