***
All fates
are the same,
it seems:
whether
witch
or demon,
rabbit
or tree,
the tones
just tell us
to exist.
Exist rich,
exist poor,
exist aware,
or not,
exist rocks,
exist sky:
that’s all they say.
You
are.
Your thoughts
your motions
your sadness–
they are.
They exist.
In this playground of chaos,
your destiny is to be here.
So I asked
these buzzing notes,
“What’s karma then,
what did the tightening-feeling before I trained Rails mean,
what are justice and mercy and innate knowledge of kindness for?”
And the fates said:
to exist.
And I was like, “Who made those though?”
and the fates said:
does it matter?
And I said, “Yeah it kind of does,
because if it was all some demon pranking us
I’d like to know so I can prank them back;
if it was some benevolent God with a plan
I’d like to know what the plan is for me;
if it wasn’t you saying I tore Clarissa from my life
for all time
I’d like to know who told me the truth;
and if it was a rabble of rocks
in a parliament
voting on abstract concepts
I want to raise a few complaints;
if you are the strings
why do some people talk about a weave for the future
like there’s some grand pattern fitting us neatly in stitches;
yes it matters who made all this
because
what is the point
of its existence?”
And the fates said:
to exist.
And I said, “To exist.
Really?
That’s it?
Why don’t I just go
sleep on the couch, then,
and never get up?”
And the fates said:
you get to exist,
and the weave of your future
is in your hands.
And I said, “No it isn’t.
I didn’t choose to get picked up by a dragon
and dropped in witch school.
I didn’t choose to have my best friend sabotage me.
I didn’t choose for her to die out there.
I didn’t choose for a night to come eat a dragon’s mind
while I was off hunting for mushrooms.
I didn’t even choose to find you here,
you just
sort of appeared.”
And the fates said:
the weave is in your hands.
The yarn
and knowledge
and pattern
might’ve been handed to you
by your parents
or a dragon
or no one at all
and you could have no training
and crumbly yarn,
but the weave
is in your hands.
Do with it
what you can.
And I said, “What if I have no clue what to do with it?
What if I never find good yarn?
Or have no…stitching needles,
or whatever you need
to weave your future?
No, never mind,
don’t answer any of that,
just tell me
how do I
make myself
happy?”
And the fates said:
good question,
Witch.
Is it not happiness enough
to exist?
***
Graveyard of Lullabies is available for free, now through January 1st, on Smashwords
Jordyn Saelor 