#poetofdiana

[poetofdiana]

Romantic vs Platonic Love

What is the difference between 'romantic' love and 'platonic' love? I don't think there is any innate difference between these 'types' of love. Aromantic/asexual philosophies argue that the centrality of romantic relationships in society devalues friendships and defines them as less important than romantic relationships. Phrases like "we're just friends" and "friends with benefits" support this idea. What do relationships look like that don't center romance above friendship?

One of the big differences that people will argue exists between romantic and platonic love is the intensity of the connection. However, I'd like to assert that the cultural devaluation of friendship is what facilitates this belief rather than an actual difference in potential intensity. As someone who is currently and has in the past been involved in emotionally and physically intense friendships, I have first-hand experience with how intense these relationships can become. I have cuddled, slept overnight with, shared feelings that I've shared with no one else, discussed relationship boundaries, bickered, and much more with my friends. When society centers romantic relationships, we define friendship as any important connections that are 'less than' romance. This puts limitations on expressions of love between friends that have tangible consequences. When asked to define cheating, many people will name 'excessive' physical or emotional intimacy between friends as something that they are uncomfortable with their romantic partner engaging in. In the absence of these cultural limitations, friendships could be equally or even more intense than romantic relationships.

[ASIDE: This is also tied to the relatively new cultural idea (based in the development of the nuclear family) that a romantic partner should be the sole source of all emotional, physical, and mental comfort/support. This limits social networks and allows for the perpetuation of domestic violence by romantic partners. It is also simply a less sustainable relationship model than the diffusion of support/care needs into a robust social network.]

Once people begin to conceptualize romantic and platonic love as equally important (as is often the case in poly and aroace spaces), they sometimes argue that there is an innate ineffable difference between what romantic and platonic attraction feels like. I do not intend to argue against the idea that people feel different ways towards different people. Instead, I'd like to argue that the classification of these feelings into 'romantic' and 'platonic' is reductive and harmful in the pursuit of meaningful connections that don't fit neatly into the category of 'romance.' When attempting to make sense of our emotions, we strive to find patterns. Given the socially legible categories of 'romantic' and 'platonic' feelings, it makes sense for people to attempt to categorize each of their relationships into one of these boxes. However, this way of viewing the important relationships in our lives limits how we can experience them. 'Platonic' relationships are devalued and limited by romantic norms. Relationships that are not socially legible as either platonic or romantic are seen as weird and undesirable, encouraging limitations on these relationships in order to fit them into one of the categories. 'Romantic' relationships are grounded in a set of socially agreed upon norms that do not necessarily reflect the desires of the individuals in the relationship, but become expectations due to the categorization of the relationship as romantic.

So what do close relationships look like if 'romance' and 'friendship' are done away with entirely? Without a set of social norms governing each relationship, individuals must develop these norms within their relationships through communication, boundary-setting, and care. Different relationships will naturally have different value in an individual's life, but instead of conforming to the social expectations placed on each relationship because of its categorization (romantic vs platonic), that individual will be free to determine what the value of each relationship is for them.

In my pursuit of meaningful, healthy relationships, I have already begun this work of deconstructing relationship categories. Though it is hard work to set expectations for each individual relationship, it facilitates a much deeper emotional connection than simply allowing expectations to follow from a relationship label. I have been able to set boundaries in relationships that would violate traditional norms of romance or friendship (for example, I regularly cuddle and massage one of my partners, but we do not kiss). It is freeing to let go of social norms that pressure us to engage in specific behaviors or feel specific feelings about people simply because we have labeled them 'romantic' or 'platonic.' Though it is hard work, it has been incredibly beneficial to the quality of my relationships to deconstruct this norm.

[poetofdiana]

Water in the Light

We’re sitting among the tree branches,

watching the sky as if it cares

enough to crash down on us.

It’s open and blue,

the blue everyone just calls sky blue

because it’s so undiluted

you can only see freedom,

and the ground is dark but unimportant,

taunting but too far to hear.

You stand, steadying your arms

with the ancient life that lays

beneath you, and gather snowflakes

on your fingertips, condensing life

into little things, into sweet simplicities

like Christmas cookies and board games.

They melt into warmth without protest -

each small secret, each memory

into the heat of a calloused palm,

edges lost to something sustaining.

And then you’re sitting again,

hands cupped to your chest,

pouring soft smiles into the pieces

of the world that dared to find you,

and holding steadily

to the world you found yourself.

December 23 2021

[poetofdiana]

Codependent

Is dancing in shades of gray

at 3 AM to music in my mind

supposed to feel like you?

Or rivers and stranded boats

with just enough water to last

to shore.

My air is stolen, with fading

breaths pulling thoughts of you

as oxygen into my lungs.

I’ve been told it’s bad to need,

bad to depend on love

to loosen the grips

of hypothermia tightening

around my heart.

But you open your mouth —

and you are blood

and I am hospitalized.

and you are string

and I am awaiting a nest,

singing domestic lullabies

to children only in my mind,

watching them grow and live

and break and feel,

pouring blood into another’s heart

and desperately loving,

loving for warmth and blood

and just enough to survive.

July 16, 2021

[poetofdiana]

It’s burning

air on my palms

and nails scraping elbows

bent breathlessly

towards a synonym only we knew.

It’s sinking

water with bubbles stretched

long above my head

and air unwanted

until it was gone.

It’s bleeding

palates and toy soldiers

and little fingers

reaching higher.

It’s me and you

and somehow

it’s never us anymore.

August 13, 2021

[poetofdiana]

Tonight, I think

I have lived long enough

to be angry.

To scream curses into my pillow

and beg the gods to bring her back

into my arms for just one night.

Tonight, I hope

she is just as lonely

and bitter and broken

and freezing with the heater

on full blast and slowly losing

each part of herself

as the second hand ticks towards morning

and desperate and burnt out as me.

Tomorrow, I will pray

that she wakes to the sunshine

and smiles at her life.

Tomorrow, I will pray

that she lives within arms

which hold her gently

and whisper their love with

smooth fingertips.

Tomorrow, I will pray

that she has forgotten my name,

but tonight, I hope she comes home.

December 12, 2021

[poetofdiana]

Fungus

You hate mushrooms,

and I’ve never loved something so small,

but you hate mushrooms

and I hate you.

You hate mushrooms,

not the kind you eat,

but the creatures that claw from the ground

and bring life to something dead.

You say they’re ugly and small

and something to be squished,

crushed under a boot with only the thought

of fungus, of mold,

not good enough to stay standing.

You hate mushrooms,

and I used to laugh and tell you you were right—

lives aren’t worth living

if you can’t be something,

if you can’t build yourself up from nothing,

if you never become bigger than the world.

And I’ve never wanted to live alone,

only wanted to be something you could hold

and be proud of,

something you could love.

But you hate small things that live,

that love the world so it will love them back,

that only fight to stay alive, not to grow,

not to dominate.

And I love the world, whatever it will give me,

whatever I will become.

January 26, 2021

[poetofdiana]

Breathe

Seven friends hide words behind masks

Words that crack on their tongues

That stick to their skin before they can pierce the air

Words now imprisoned in their own warmth

By the breath given forth in sacrifice

To pause the broken strings of dialogue

Freeze!

But your words melt through the ice

Allow us to traverse the translucent tunnels

As you take a pick to the bubble that stakes us in place

The cold slips between your fingers and forms crystals in your hair

But cannot hack its way into your veins

The key to treetops and fairy houses,

To memories of playgrounds and camping,

You share your secrets with caution

For the sun cannot shine without darkness

Just as words cannot heal without knowing pain

Freeze!

Your words hang softly from branches

Weaving together to rest on our shoulders

Heads damp from condensation form a star on the grass

And eyes linger on fiery streaks frozen in a milky sky just for us

You raise your palm gently

Letting your fingers curl around the white fire reflected in our gaze

Heads rest in hands and elbows on knees around you

Faces filled with a delicate glow

The world mumbles in restless sleep

As you unfurl your grasp

Breathe.

January 30, 2021

[poetofdiana]

And In That Moment

Here -

In the rock that rests against our backs

Scale walls of broken pebbles

As icicles hang from our tongues

Lose yourself in silence willingly

For restless minds can always be brought back

Air that hung heavy lightens its burden on our shoulders

As footsteps wind up a broken path towards the sky

In the wind that strokes its hands through our hair

Open eyes once frozen in darkness

And disregard the tear that melts down your jaw

Step into the warmth

Hand in tired hand

In the sun that falls from the horizon but leaves us rainbows

Watch the black sink through the breeze

Safety, though never quantified,

Has waltzed through the air

To place a bubble around our hearts

Reach through into the darkness

For its tendrils cannot pull you from my grasp.

Here -

In the water that reaches up to grab our bodies

Reach out for green pads

That snake their way from the bottom of the lake

Guide the blooming flowers from their grasp

And rest them on our board

Fire fans down from the sky

And lights the board beneath us with rays

That turn the blossoms orange

In the air that whistles as we fall

Push your wobbling legs underneath you

The sticky warmth of the breeze will give itself to us

Before we stumble into the cold that waits to swallow our breath

In the arms that we fling out to steady the other

Trace the water with your finger

It floats up before sinking down

We heave our chests to snatch back stolen breath

You may lie in the cold, but will you take my warmth?

Here -

In my phone that lights up at your name

Unfreeze time and loosen the grip on my bones

Can you feel the void that screams to let go?

Its tendrils that threaten to pull me under

To encircle my limbs and squeeze the warmth from my skin

In your laugh that crackles through darkness to reach me

Pierce the black with your hand

Grip its core and snap the air from its grasp

In our smiles that catch in the other’s eye

Throw stories and secrets into the sky

And let the light settle in our bones

Our breath, intertwined through distance,

Can fill the air with warmth again.

February 13, 2021

[poetofdiana]

Pine Cone

It was brown and crumbling,

each spike caving under my soft touch.

Where the spikes emerged from the bottom,

they were clustered, dotted with white and green,

the tips of each one colored lighter than the base,

like middle school girls after a night alone

in the bathroom with bleach.

They got skinnier as my gaze approached the top,

forming a wobbly cone.

The air was cold, and snow dotted

the banks around the roads.

I was in a tree, my arms spread wide

against the branches to hold myself steady.

I still wobbled.

It sat there, similarly nestled

between ancient things much steadier than it,

and we watched each other,

me and that pine cone,

me and every other temporary thing in this world.

And we stared until I lost my balance -

or maybe jumped -

and trudged through the snow

and drove away

from our fate.

December 15, 2021

[poetofdiana]

tw // death ??

Lose yourself in the white noise. It existed to leave you incapacitated, to feel your breath leave your body as you relax into the rock. Let the sun beat you down. Let it push you towards unconsciousness, towards darkness. Feel the heat on your skin until you don’t know where you end and the warmth begins. Let it wrap you into oblivion. Let it freeze you in heat. Let the world swallow you whole. Relax into existence and let it guide you out. And as your life fades from existence, thank the Earth for her troubles. Thank her for letting you experience life for a short while, even as she slowly ripped it from you. And thank her for allowing you to leave peacefully, as so many others have been denied.

June 12, 2020

[poetofdiana]

There’s a man watching outside my window with gold speckled skin and an obsidian halo. He speaks in riddles and foreign tongues, and I’ve never said a word to him for fear he’ll learn my name. He sits there waiting, for what I do not know, and he plays checkers with the stars. They move at his fingertips, constellations circling his hands. My curtains stay closed, but at night when they are cracked open, he is watching and I can feel him there. His eyes peer in, yellow with a cat’s gaze, blinking languidly as if it can’t be necessary. I often wonder why he chose me, with his power that must be so large to be so beautiful in terror. Does he enjoy clawing panic down my throat, or is it an unfortunate byproduct for a necessary watchman?