Past of Dichotomies

by Jasmine Lunia

Honey-coated lips

brush those coated with blood.

I never thought of war but I fear it,

I never think of love but I fear it,

are they really so different?

I cannot write like I used to write

when my cortex is clouded by this dark fog

of

love so deep I wish I never felt it,

the blunting almost as painful

as the stabbing itself.

I study the brain’s chemistry

because perhaps if I reassure myself enough times

that all we are,

our very substance,

inconsequential molecules, unproblematic hierarchy,

then maybe I could convince myself

this is the natural order,

to battle and fall and draw imperfect circles on the overcrowded plain,

yet every time

tell me why all I want is to understand what I cannot.