Not Everything Is About Burning: A Creation Myth
and I am so jealous of her at that moment you wrote about her
like she’s Galatea and you’re Pygmalion or maybe it was the reverse;
she brought me to life, you said, in one of your poems,
she is art she is art she is art
but who am I? there is a poem about burning and our favourite book
and this is it, this is the mythology about us,
how our world came to be
and I keep thinking that I was wrong
I was Narcissus when I should have been Echo
and that’s who I am / what I am / an echo.
he will whisper about how much he loved himself for all eternity
and she will whisper I love him I love him I love him,
except that he loves someone else, and Echo’s voice
haunts us eternally,
and this story is all wrong
fast forward to you saying I want to read what you wrote about me
and I told you that you were my muse, before,
but what’s the point of this now?
what’s the point of playing this game with you
but god, I want to be her. I want to be the one
you wrote about, you hurt for, want to be the one
who ate your liver every sunrise because you stole a little warmth
from the gods. I want to be the one who lie next to you
and said love. you called her bitch
but I still want to be her. hate is better
than the alternative,
better than this gray area we call friends.
it really was just a border town, a dull forgettable place
somewhere between friendship and something more
but it really was you who made it all bearable.
I said this is what I wanted, I wanted to play Orion and Artemis
with you, but in the end still he died and still he became a constellation
and still, she was a goddess
still, Tristan tried to find Isolde in this life and still,
we hurt, this pain, and still, I loved you,
for what’s it worth, I loved you,
I ached for you, I hurt FOR you
you’ve torn me apart like a pack of Dionysian maenads,
and I’ve turned around too soon, too soon—
there is no mercy in these stories, no happy endings.
to boldly go is nice to say but maybe
it’s time for me to go boldly, to burn,
for I burn and burn for you and sooner and later everything
turns to cinder. I am ash for you. you should have known.
h.m is an aspiring poet living in Jakarta. He writes poetry casually in his spare time and is still trying to finish his first manuscript. He’s interested in mythology and stories and how they shape humanity. He frequently daydreams about space, and could be contacted wherever the veil is thin.