Metaphysical metamorphosis (in our future dream, we found it lying in my sordid past—-you grounded me in strange blue love)

My past is my present

I say that to myself often to stay grounded. To stay in check.

I’m not good, I’m a wreck.

I listen to old vinyl records to stay on the solid ground, but the skipping part in my mind never stops bleating it’s painfully numbing time lock.

I hear my partner whistling, he’s singing this sad song

All alone in our jaded tent,

And I wanna make his tune fits the one I feel for him.

He always corrects me to say I am merely his assistant, but I read his eyes

And he says he’s busy, go away.

(But his throat is painfully hoarse; his eyes are wavering and I hear that pulsing sound

Like rain trickling in his chest, and it’s flooding between us)

“My present is not my past.”

I say that often to myself, even as I’m juggling fire like a dragon and throwing out my dreams into the connected air

Of our circus training.

My mask keeps me from crashing,

Crashing

Crashing into a new story(a horror story like twist),

Wherein he sees my real face

The real me

No more metamorphosis, the mask never changed me

And it’s the White Wolf who carries me back

Into madness, once again.

I am not a wolf,

I am not a human,

But Popee, he doesn’t bother to ask me—-

He just knows me as Kedamono,

And metaphysically, philosophically

The mask I always wear just helped him see my inner pain more clearly than without it.

My dysmorphia was born

In a gutted, careening river

Where the water is not alive even though it’s moving:

It’s zombified and flowing without oxygen

It has no real fish inside.

I took his hand in mine one day, I sung him a little tune,

He still looked crazily at me—-

I didn’t blame him

I mean, look at his Papi—

He made his son live that vagabond circus dream

Without asking him at all,

And Popee doesn’t let go of my hand(paw, claw, fear, stump)

He merely calls me sappy.

Past or present,

We were tied together in a bonded zone, a locket tied up in phantom threads-

Like a ghostly aura of invincibility

And frozen time, where we’d go to never be apart.

We were lost in dry sands,

And flirting with our mortality

Years went by, we became stranger

With our fearless partnership

As we survived in gusts and shadows and storms

Both imagined and real,

And as I saw you grow into your skin

And mature into a strong man,

You and I finally

Could see

I was not forever entangled in madness by my family trauma

I was not grounded by my mask

I was me

And you were you

That’s all

No crash.

He healed a part of me I thought wasn’t broken

My mask itself.

Some people say it’s bad to wear a mask,

That it hides who you truly are—-

But I had no capacity to communicate without it,

No tears, my glands were torn,

You saw it was something beautiful

And how I was forlorn.

“White Wolf Mother didn’t give you your kindness, adventurous dreams or create your heart,

I appreciate your sad, sweet eyes,

I’ll hold you up, and hug your tears away,

We can both make a fresh start.”

The skipping in my mind smoothed over as you told me this,

Unveiling my face

Without taking off my mask,

We truly felt our beaming, blue love

I felt weak in the knees,

Your glowing eyes were beautiful,

Holding me firm, in a fearless grasp.

My past is you, my present

Is now.

*****

Author note: This was the last part of my circus poetry trilogy of trauma and deep, grandiose love. My love for these characters grew even as crazy as they seem, and in this tribute and trilogy, both Kedamono & Popee are over eighteen at this point in time.

Thank you so much for reading,

Melissa

First:

Second:

Here’s some information on the anime & manga series Popee the Performer: