When I Opened Myself To You

Love is the soul's light, the taste of morning.

When I opened myself to you,

it wasn’t to receive what you were giving me,

it was to give you all of me ---

each breath, each sigh,

each echo of life

that abounds in your breath,

that outlives the living,

to go on living in you.

 

When I opened myself to you,

I wasn’t trying to escape anything;

but somehow, I found myself on the other shore.

I looked back and could see me, stranded,

looking right at me, now absent, afar,

having lost myself inside of you.

 

When I opened myself to you,

I didn’t know that I would lose myself forever,

my heart, my soul, every breath of being

ever intertwined with you.

 

When I opened myself to you,

I opened like the petals of a flower

stretched wide for the open glory of the sun,

the sky, the fresh morning air.

I tumbled and crumbled and crawled.

I fell, immeasurably, irreducibly, in love.

 

When I opened myself to you,

I didn’t profess my undying love.

I lived it.

I pronounced it in spirit, in soul,

in the only irrevocable way that I knew.

 

When I opened myself to you,

I stood breathless on the precipice

of who I was and who I’d become,

of the old me and the new me,

the you-me, the we.

 

When I opened myself to you,

I gave you everything;

and in the giving, I lost more than I knew I had.

 

Now, when I open myself to you,

I open my eyes to a world of ghosts,

all things that are living but not,

that float through my vision,

hurtling themselves towards the only life I know -

you!

 

Now, when I open, I am alone,

a lone flower in a field of weeds;

and still I open,

in the only way I know,

in honor of what used to be,

what will never be,

what never was.

 

I open in memory,

in the joy of remembrance,

in lament of longing,

in absence of the real me,

the old me that I never knew,

who was born in the blossom of love

on the cusp of the great divide,

the divide between then and now,

here and there,

somewhen and somewhere,

with you and without you.

 

I open my eyes, my soul,

my breath of being to you,

always for you,

only for you.

 

I open in search of the real me,

my eyes scanning the shore

for the sight or sound of you;

for, I know when I find you,

when I discern you

and touch you and feel you,

I will find me, the real me,

the new me, the we-me

that I could never be without you.

 

Without you,

I close.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Lorry]

When we truly open ourselves to others, we are showing trust in them that isn't always returned. But without judgement, continuing to open is the only way to be true to yourself and keep the part that is you truly real.
In doing so you show your fragility, strength and honesty and yes, it is sometimes painful when it isn't reciprocated, but being any other way is to change yourself and most likely, not in a good way, but in letting the other level you down to their level.
At least by keeping true to yourself, you will always be able to hold your head high and meet your own reflections gaze and recognise that reflection.
Very well written piece. Honest and dare I say it, open.

[Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn..]

Sounds like all too surreal real life to me, like that day I lost my to COVID on 1/7/22 ... Very powerful and touching thoughts shared ever so bravely here and set to page a most majestic Poetry ...

Marvin Thomas Cox-Flynn de Graham

[W. Barrett Munn]

I would have hoped this was imagined but other comments suggest otherwise. It is incredibly difficult to write about intense feelings without the perspective of time to sand the rough edges until smooth enough to be universally understood. This work is intense but almost uncomfortably personal, like finding and reading a diary.

Winston

[Sami Khalil]

A gorgeous poem Linda; I felt the genuine outpouring of selfless love, but with a sad ending. A great perspective on love mixed with realizations you share.

[John the Baptist]

I do not recall reading a poem previously where one has surrendered so much to another and received so little in return. Even more astonishing is the dearth of bitterness on the speaker's part. The devotion is close to absolute, as the final lines testify. I find the work beautiful and a bit unsettling simultaneously.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, John. I don't think I shall ever love so deeply nor completely ever again in this lifetime.

[The Unknown Sith]

I like this it flows well and is an entertaining read.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Sith. I appreciate your time in reading and reviewing.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

this is really an eloquent piece of poetry. very heartfelt

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you for reading and reviewing. It has been a long while. It's so nice to see you again.
read moreThank you for reading and reviewing. It has been a long while. It's so nice to see you again.

[Chris Shaw]

I felt the outpouring here of a soul who gave everything for her love and yet to no avail. Nothing left to give and I wonder whether sometimes you can give too much. The aftermath is so destructive. You convey emotion brilliantly Linda. It is always such a pleasure to read you. You have an extra gear when it comes to poetry, and that is meant as a compliment.

Chris

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you for reading and for taking the time to review, Chris. I am glad that this one touched you. I feel that anyone who has experienced this would understand it. Thanks again.

[FGFRANKLIN]

This poem has subtleties reminiscent of Emily Dickinson's, "I Cannot Live With You" while perhaps turning the phrase more to I cannot live without you or I cannot be me without you. It's a rich and haunting write swelling the heart with hope for the protagonist. This was a very enjoyable read touching life and love with a tender and tedious hand. Very nicely done.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Fabian. I appreciate your considerate and thoughtful review.

[FGFRANKLIN]

You're very welcome. I found your poem beautiful. It was easily understood and inspired empathy with the author. If you haven't read Ms. Dickinson's, "I Cannot Live With You" I highly encourage you to do so. It's a wonderfully personal piece in which the reader has no idea of the intended recipient or the history between the two other than what might be inferred. We only know by the language that it is someone very near and dear to the author's heart. To me, and a good many others, Dickinson was arguably America's finest poetic voice so I thought you might find the comparison interesting.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Fabian. For me, when I read poetry, I want to feel what the writer is feeling. When I write about something so personal, I want the person reading it to feel what I was feeling. For words to have that power is amazing to me. I have cried reading other's work, and I know that others have cried reading mine.

I pulled out my "The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson and read # 640 - I Cannot Live With You."

To love and not to be is such a plaintive sigh. It echoes across the ages.

[FGFRANKLIN]

I love The Belle. She could express so much with such simplicity and beauty. The power of the written word has inspired me all my life. I cut my teeth on Jack London and O. Henry. I think I read Ransom of Red Chief when I was six or so. Jules Verne, Arthur Conan Doyle and Edgar Rice Burrows were among my favorites. I liked Mark Twain too. I went through stages reading, mythology, philosophy, religion, anthropology, art, poetry, drama, horror and world history. I began writing poetry when I was 15 or so... to impress girls of course. I've never stopped writing poetry and don't think I could if I wanted to, which I don't. I wonder sometimes how many poems I've lost over the decades. The main point of poetry to me is passion. If you show me your passion for a thing in verse, that is verse. But if you get your reader to share your passion (if only for a moment) in verse, that is poetry. You have plenty of passion and a wonderful pen for expressing it. I appreciate your work.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Our love of reading and poetry seems to have followed a similar path. I started writing poetry at 15 as well. For me, it was a way of expressing myself when I had no one else to talk to. It has always been therapeutic for me. I can see your passion for writing, and I enjoy reading your work as well.

[JayG]

The problem with writing about ourselves is that there is always the question of: What’s in it for the reader? Who comes here to read poetry about how someone unknown feels, and what matters to them? People read poetry as an entertainment. But what’s entertaining about a letter from someone unknown to someone not introduced, concerning events unknown to the reader?

Invite the reader in. Make it meaningful to them as-they-read. Make them feel and care, not be better informed on what matters to someone unknown. As E. L. Doctorow puts it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

Look at the opening as a reader must:

• When I opened myself to you,

What can that mean to the reader who just arrived, and lacks context? It might mean that this unknown person gave someone their trust. It could mean revealing secrets that make them vulnerable in some unknown way. If the speaker is female it could literally be a crude sexual reference. You know. The people being talked about know. The reader? Not a clue. But, who did you write it for? Shouldn’t they know?

Will we gain understanding if we read on? Who cares? There is no second first impression.

• it wasn’t to receive what you were giving me,

Might help if the reader had a clue of what this unknown was giving. Again, you know. The person giving knows. The reader? Not a clue, because you’re focused on pretty language at the expense of meaning. And as a personal observation, the number of things that it wasn’t is infinite. Better to focus on what it is.

You’re using pretty words, and placing pretty pictures. You write quite well. But instead of whipped cream, make the reader’s jaw drop. Make them say, “Wow! Play with the reader’s emotions. You have the power to make someone you will never meet sigh, laugh, or weep. Use that power and they will thank you.

The problem with writing about ourselves is that there is always the question of: What’s in it for the reader? Who comes here to read poetry about how someone unknown feels, and what matters to them? People read poetry as an entertainment. But what’s entertaining about a letter from someone unknown to someone not introduced, concerning events unknown to the reader?

Invite the reader in. Make it meaningful to them as-they-read. Make them feel and care, not be better informed on what matters to someone unknown. As E. L. Doctorow puts it: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader. Not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

Look at the opening as a reader must:

• When I opened myself to you,

What can that mean to the reader who just arrived, and lacks context? It might mean that this unknown person gave someone their trust. It could mean revealing secrets that make them vulnerable in some unknown way. If the speaker is female it could literally be a crude sexual reference. You know. The people being talked about know. The reader? Not a clue. But, who did you write it for? Shouldn’t they know?

Will we gain understanding if we read on? Who cares? There is no second first impression.

• it wasn’t to receive what you were giving me,

Might help if the reader had a clue of what this unknown was giving. Again, you know. The person giving knows. The reader? Not a clue, because you’re focused on pretty language at the expense of meaning. And as a personal observation, the number of things that it wasn’t is infinite. Better to focus on what it is.

You’re using pretty words, and placing pretty pictures. You write quite well. But instead of whipped cream, make the reader’s jaw drop. Make them say, “Wow! Play with the reader’s emotions. You have the power to make someone you will never meet sigh, laugh, or weep. Use that power and they will thank you.

If you've not read them, Mary Oliver has two exceptional books on poetry. The first, A Poetry Handbook, focuses on unstructured poetry, and is filled with unexpected insights, The second, aimed at structured poetry, is Rules For The Dance. Another excellent resource is the excerpt for Stephen Fry's, The Ode Less Traveled. What he has to say about the flow of language is something every writer should read.

Hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you for your time and interest and for such a lengthy review. You have given me food for thought.