How to Love a Symbolist Poet

Advice from a symbolist poet on how to love a symbolist poet.

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By Mikhail Vrubel — Tsarevna-Lebed_by_Mikhail_Vrubel.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12164484

These days more and more symbolist poets are stepping out and showing their true colors. Some of you may have had a loved one step into the world of symbolist poetry and feel as though you have lost touch. Some of you might have found a symbolist poet you’re interested in on your timeline. I’m here to let you know, there’s a sliver of hope when it comes to connecting with the symbolist poet of your dreams.

When you’re outside of the symbolist community, it can feel overwhelming. You might even feel like you have to compete with other symbolists who seem to know exactly what to say to your symbolist poet. Those damn poets, they are good with both words and emotions, but let me tell you, there is hope. There is a way to connect with your poet. There is more than one way to cultivate a strong connection with your poet and I’m here to share these ways with you.

First things first, since I am a female poet, this will be advice on how to connect with a female poet. I’m not a man, so I’m not sure I could write an honest piece on how to connect with a male symbolist poet.

Let’s get started, shall we?

Know that you are worthy enough for her.

Symbolist poets study humans down to the nitty gritty. They learn to feel everything because if they didn’t, they would not grow as poets. So, the first way to cultivate a strong connection with your poet, is to know that you are valuable and you are enough. Yes, poets like beautiful things, but what they appreciate more is honest things. If you’re trying to connect with your poet while having a false sense of self, she will know. Your best bet is to know you’re worthy with or without her so she doesn’t feel you’re being fraudulent right off the bat.

Be Honest.

Charles Bukowski isn’t popular among writers because he’s an asshole who slept around. Ok that might have something to do with it, but mostly he’s popular among writers because he told the truth. As a writer, he was open and honest about all of his feelings. He wrote about how bad he felt for the shitty things he did. He wrote about how empty he felt at times. As a writer, Bukowski was an open book. He was open even about something as small as the shame he felt after road rage. Don’t confuse a poet’s love for Buk’s honesty, with the idea of craving a rockstar boyfriend. This can be applied to any poet really. So the point is, just be honest about everything. Poets crave to hear you be honest about what you’re feeling.

Learn how to use your honesty.

Ok, so this is where honesty can get tricky. Some people think you should always be honest. Some people think you should not tell your wife when she looks fat. I’m here to say, you’ve got to learn how to use your honesty. Chances are, this symbolist poet already knows the truth. Chances are she values your opinion. So how can you learn to use your honesty? If you feel like you’re telling her the truth just to prove that you will, that’s not honesty. Being honest with your poet takes a lot of being honest with yourself. Self-acceptance is required in order to learn how to be honest with your poet.

Accept Yourself.

If your poet is into you or has already committed to you, it is vital that you learn to accept yourself for who you are. Even if you are courting a poet, when you don’t accept yourself, your lack of acceptance can come out toward her in underhanded remarks. You may not even notice that you’re doing it. Be aware of the parts of you that you’re ashamed of and then love those parts. Do this over and over again, so you don’t unintentionally hurt your poet.

Give snacks as gifts.

Don’t ever underestimate the power of snacks. Learn her snacks. Know her snacks. Gift her with her most loved snacks. Trust me on this one.

Show consistency.

Show up. Keep doing it for her. Do it when she’s sad. Do it when she’s happy and everything is going great for her. Show up when she doesn’t need you at all. Just show up. This will cultivate a sense of trust. Symbolist poets have an interesting understanding of the human condition. They understand the strong desires inbred in our DNA. The chance of you abandoning them are always high in a symbolist poet’s mind because that’s reality. I’m not saying they have abandonment issues but they are always prepared to be abandoned. Prove them wrong.

Listen to her.

They have thoughts running through their minds on vast levels on a regular basis. They are recalling and connecting poetry, poets, images, movies, history, occult knowledge, mysteries of the universe, serial killers, astrology, what time they should post, a lecture they heard ten years ago, last time they showered, ok you get it. So let them get a few things off their chest by listening to them ramble, so they can move on with their lives.

Let her love you.

This one is not easy. It sounds really easy. Who doesn’t want to be loved, right? Symbolist poets love entirely. They have and are always learning to accept all parts of themselves. They are constantly learning and relearning themselves so, the way they love you is going to be some of the most pure love you’ll ever receive. They aren’t perfect by any means. But chances are, they’ve already taken notes on your body language, on your choice of words, on your interests and dreams and can pretty much love you exactly where you are. It’s going to feel real weird. It’s going to feel almost unreal, like when people just give away good quality free shit. With free shit there’s always a catch, but with symbolist poets, this isn’t the case. Self acceptance is required in order to grow as a symbolist poet and self acceptance is the root of unconditional love. They are always working on self acceptance. So, if you’re questioning whether your symbolist poet will always love you, you can stop questioning, because she will always love you. Soak up her love while following the guidelines above, and you’re golden.

Respect her.

Now chances are, you could do all of these things right to a T, but if she’s not interested, and voices that to you, your best option is to respect her and let her be. Letting a symbolist poet go when she asks is one of the most divine acts of love and she will respect you far more for it.

If all else fails,

become a symbolist poet yourself. You know what they say, “If you can’t beat em, join em.”

Thanks for reading,
Your humble symbolist poet,
Saschia Johnson

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Metamorphoses II

Ode to Ovid

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One day, a king’s knight
entered the woods.
He fell upon the divine beauty
who had invested herself
in the woodsman.

“What are you doing living
in these woods?
Where are your clothes?” He asked.

Now, the fathers below heard
the knight’s words fall upon her
and they begged Hades to blind her
from his questioning.

But Hades felt she had been
hidden long enough
and refused their pleas.

“Naked?” She asked;
“If there was something
I needed my skilled woodsman
would have brought it to me.”

He replied, “Your woodsman hasn’t
warned you what could come
if you lived out here naked
with no protection? Do you know
our enemy is coming?
They will be charging these woods soon.”

“Enemy? I know no such thing.
My woodsman will bring
me what I need.” She returned to her
birds and flowers and wines and chocolates.

He stayed with her, remaining hidden.

While they were in the woods
the enemy fell upon the woodsman’s town.
He, his wife, and family were slaughtered.
After the massacre of that town the army
took stance and defeated them.

The divine woman awaits her woodsman,
unaware of his slaughter.

“It has been three days,
your woodsman has not returned.
What will you do?”

The fathers below cried out to Hades
“Please Hades send him away.
Don’t arouse her curiosity anymore.
Allow her to remain in the woods till she
rests in peace.”

Hades with the view of history
behind his eyes
concedes to their wishes.
The knight is summoned by honored
servants to return to the dying king’s bedside.

The divine woman, who the woodsman
never named in order
to keep her secret,
knew that her woodsman was safe.
In her bliss, she assumed her woodsman
was awaiting her to join him.
So she began her journey out of the woods.

The fathers below watched on
in horror as their daughter,
ignorant and naked,
wandered toward the massacred town.
They begged Hades once again,
“Please keep her in the woods,
please send the soldier back to her.”

Hades said “It is you
who have kept your daughter
in darkness. It is you who
begged me to rid her protection.
Now, you will see the weight of your
desires.

The divine woman with no name stepped
out of the woods.

~Saschia Johnson~

This is part two of a three part series. Thanks for reading.

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That Kind of Night

The blankets, slept in. The air thick with smoke from the magical stuff that turns your mind inward, too inward if you let it. I wouldn’t know, I’m more of a bore. The stale sweat rubs me in every wrong way while I tell myself I’m there for some divine reason. A few drops of blood drip from the crown of his head. Flashes of sex. Flashes of nude bones and rolling hills course through me like biblical visions from above. I don’t dare ask. And here he comes with all the magic and an entire universe behind his eyes that a few of us are lucky enough to see. I respect you, is what I wish to say. I like you- like you, is what I wish to say, but instead I talk about Chipotle. I want him and he wants me but I want more. The stink of stale sex and that feeling of whether he’ll be there tomorrow plagues me enough without it. “Not tonight, okay?” And that was ok. And it was ok. Like it should be. But it’s not the sex that connect us. The sadness that sits inside him reaches the depths of hell and the arms he wraps me in feel like the sun and the moon. He is an entire universe I’ll only ever leave in body because my mind wanders towards him in the most sacred ways. So sacred, it doesn’t feel right.

Ode To David

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I sacrifice the ways of man

and rid the pride

of sacrifice

And I will crawl into the bowels

And rise to the sky

into your hands

and I will lift my voice

in delight in whatever you made

me to be

help me to accept what you have vowed

A life, oh Lord, it is mine

A life, oh Lord, it is mine

not rid of strife

but abundance

I’m alive, a wild sun,

a silent moon

slow to utter vows

I sacrifice the ways of man

and rid the pride

of sacrifice

And I will crawl into the bowels

And rise to the sky

into your hands

and I will lift my voice

-Saschia Johnson

Blessed is She Who Mourned

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

A poem (published on Genius in a Bottle)

They told her she’d be healed
Over and Over
We believed.

Oh, we believed

We prayed

We fasted

We drowned ourselves in the mysteries of faith
we turned the lights off at sunrise
knowing it’s the body that falls
not the word

We gathered her broken pieces
into our childish hands
and wrapped them into our
white night gowns

While they turned up their…..

Read More Here

On Infidelity and Monsters

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When would he realize that it wasn’t his infidelity I couldn’t bear, but his cowardice?
― 
Tatiana de Rosnay, Sarah’s Key

Infidelity is something I’m exploring right now. Since there’s different types, I’m referring to the type that involves an entire secret relationship. What hurts about it? The inability to face the betrayed partner? The sucker punch to the ego? The false persona being portrayed to keep up with all the lies? I often explore the judgement I have for individuals who go this route. Coincidently, I’m not the only one who explores the idea of betrayal, it’s been written about since the beginning of time. I think we’ve all experienced the sting of betrayal at some point in our lives. I mean, God provided Adam and Eve with everything they could ever imagine and He still got betrayed.

Now, this bias clearly isn’t deep in my unconscious, but it would be if I didn’t take time to explore the issue. I’ve been taught since childhood that cheating on your spouse is very wrong and hurtful. And I do agree, but they were taught to me in a way that made cheaters seem almost inhuman or monstrous. The truth is it’s so human to lie and cheat. It’s very human to betray others and even more so to betray ourselves. But does that make you monster? I don’t think cheating spouses are monsters. No matter how much respect I lose for them, they are not monsters.

The only people that can’t handle the truth are those that suffer so much anxiety that they will live in denial, in order to prevent their illusion from being destroyed and feeling more anxiety.
― 
Shannon L. Alder

To put it simply, they have internal issues that need to be worked out before they enter into or continue any type of relationship. Their only option to move forward is to face the reasons why they are seeking something outside themselves for fulfilment. The issue won’t disappear when you make one woman (or man) disappear, there will always be more. The issue will never disappear, it will only fall into the background when it’s resolved, as a sort of reminder.

So as an adult, if people are doing things that are in my opinion, wrong, like infidelity, I do not peg them as monsters. They are simply creatures who are still learning to grow and evolve. Don’t get me wrong, I get angry and protective when someone attempts to take away the peace in my household, but to be clear, I don’t think cheaters are monsters, I think they’re human.

Feelings are much like waves, we can’t stop them from coming, but we can choose which ones to surf.

~Jonatan Mårtensson~

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So to wrap things up here, I’d like to share a fictional letter written to a character in one of my stories who was going through a similar experience. I wrote it for encouragement in the midst of my own heartbreak. I was devastated and letters like these where I was supporting “others” really got me through the experience. An experience I really really don’t want to endure again, not even in any other lifetimes. (If that’s a thing)

This is my soul work.

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Dear Broken Hearted Woman,

Read More on Medium

Your Wife III

She pokes and prods

Yells and screams

She wants sex

She wants to feel sexy

And dinner out

And he worked

he worked his ass off

But she wants wants wants

And the kids are hungry

And work is calling while they sit at the dinner table

Chicken and salad…. again

He’s glad he got fast food

But now she’s hurt and mad and sad

And needs attention

But he’s tired and she understands

So she cries in the bedroom with the baby

because she knows she’s too much

She wants to be more

To cook better

To look better with her hair and nails done

She nods off

baby on lap

Daughter in bed

Mom in chair

Dad somewhere she hopes is comfortable enough for him to get rest

So maybe just maybe tomorrow

he’ll finally have the energy to put up with her

Maybe he’ll even bring flowers

-Saschia

What is Worth Fighting For?

There should only be a few things

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If you allow it too much to fall into your bucket of things worth fighting for you’re going to get off track from your true calling. It’s easy to end up fighting battles that aren’t yours to fight. For me, there are only three things I think are worth fighting for, relationships as in my family and friends, my dreams, and being honest about my truths. Anything outside of that, is a distraction or entertainment.

I want my family and friends to have a life where they grow up knowing their worth, their voice, and what they bring to the table. I want to bring those things into their lives. In the past I did drop the ball on those things but I have rebuilt myself so many times that the only thing I want to bring into their presence from here on out is encouragement, empowerment, support and what ever else goes with loving them unconditionally.

My dreams have been my only reason to get out of bed. I lean on them. My hope is that my dreams will outlive me. What else is better to have in our darkest times than hope in our dreams?

I was a quiet girl. Sometimes I was a coward to keep the peace. Sometimes I blew up because I kept my mouth shut too long. I’ve made a lot of mistakes by not being honest about my feelings and about who I am as a person. Sometimes I even say things I don’t mean when someone treats me as if I’m worthless. And for those inappropriate things I’ve said, I’m sorry. I reacted and I shouldn’t have. I understand some things I have said can’t be taken back, but I will show you with my actions that I didn’t mean them. Please know, everyday I push myself to be honest about how I really feel. Everyday I try to explain why I’m angry, sad, or quiet. I’m not out here trying to be malicious with my honesty. I’m not using my honesty to prove to you that I can say things that are going to upset you. I’m honest because I know it’s my best option.

Those are my priorities. Those are the things I want to focus on. What are your top three priorities in life. I’d love to hear them.

View at Medium.com

Your Wife II

His waves crash

Like an ancient melody

They play my song

They pull me in

I dive and dive

Only to be denied

I sit I cry

I beg and plead

Open up to me

I’m left drenched with a

Mouth full of sea foam

Drowning in an eerie silence

I’ve become a pirate

Forever in love with circling

His seas

-Saschia