SOPHIA HARARI
POETRY
Self-Portrait
Finally
She sees
The self that stands before her
Is the self she lives and breathes
Taking up the space around her
Waits her energy
An aura
Wanting to be seen
A spirit
Switching up the scene
The image
Staring back at me
Ancestral Healing
Movement moved me
I danced through the pains of those who came before me
My pain was not my own
my dance was not my own
my hands swung so low they grazed the ground
my grounding was supported
my spirit
our spirit
whispered like smoke
my scream was muted
I could not access anger
I was too consumed
there was not one of me in my room
there was all of me
knots sprung to my neck as I shook
I spun, never getting dizzy
Like my grazing hands I was grounded
like a vision I stood outside of myself
I could only see them
my ancestors
my past
SPIRIT
it was holy
my head swung
the movement was so familiar
I have been here before
been (this) before
I am myself again
the heaviness has lifted
ME/WE
To see me
As anything but what I am
Means you cannot see me at all
My existence is inconsistent
Just like yours
My identity is fluid and flexible
Just like yours
Do not name me
Contain me
Destroy me
Betray me
Then try to hold my hand
As if it is a hand you know
A hand you watered and replenished
A hand you peacefully cherished
I will prosper
Without your pesticides
Decidedly deciding
What it means
To be me
Me
Resistance
What could life be?
the witless whistle of the wind?
Held in a trap
of resurgence
of existence
Refraining from
Resistance
You make me indulgent
Indulgence is to live in excess
To want too much, to have too much
To live to be extravagant and decadent
To overconsume, to lack self-control
I have heard
It is a cardinal sin
When I am with you
I indulge
In myself, in you, in us
I don’t limit
Our food
Our time
Our love
I live life until I’m full
When I am with you
I live
To be fulfilled
To be satisfied
To be gratified
To forget what it means to want more
Indulgence
Is worth the slow burns
That will emerge
As the light lick of the flame ignites
until my skin is covered
and there is no more space
For life, for love
The consequence of sin
Summer is Summer
Lounging doesn’t seem so futile
When your skin burns brown and sweat drips down your neck to your chest
Shallow breaths from the extreme relaxation
It is so hot it hurts
There’s no greater pleasure than pain
The sun makes the roof I lounge on hot to the touch
My foot flirts between the cool blanket I lay on and the scorching stone below
Indulging in the beauty of both
Flies lay dead on their backs
The mint plant at the end of my roof stands dry and brown breaking at the touch
The heat is so impressive I can hear it
The heat is so destructive I can see it
Awake
I awake as the sun does
Naturally
Early
I ruminate on memories
Of you
Of us
I close my eyes
Then open them
Blinking away
My pain
From Crimson to Maroon
From Crimson to Maroon
The strokes thicken
From Violet to Indigo
The grip of my hand softens
I want to feel the Anger again
Blue
is too dull
Black
is too dark
I stop myself
From dipping my brush in the red
Too much red
I must expand my palette
But yellow is too joyous
Orange insincere
I need to feel peace again
the eggshell betrays itself
It’s not quite white
Not quite right
Tap tap tap
The brush is clean
time to start again
I dip
then the heavy stroke begins
From crimson to maroon