I Will Squish You Into Nothing

a poem written by not-a-poet

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I’ve been writing poems lately, and it’s making me feel like a teenager again, because I wrote poems when I was a teenager. Why am I writing poems? Well, because I have to, for a class. But I finished those poems and somehow I kept writing poems! I’ve been writing a poem every day! Are they real poems? Idk! What are real poems? They’re my poems. So I guess they’re real. Ok, on with the show! The “show” being a poem that may not really be a poem but is probably a poem. I’ve been working on this one for a few weeks, but it probably needs more work. Oh well. I’m still gonna share it.

I hope you enjoy my maybe-a-poem.

Optisk Illusjon // Edvard Munch // 1930

I Will Squish You Into Nothing

Please read the entirety of this email
which has been forwarded to you
from the ether, where you came from
and where you will return after you die.

Dear [name],

I know you think that this email's
subject line is threatening, and you
are correct in that assumption,
but incorrect in your interpretation
of the word "threatening."

A threat can also be a promise,
and when you chose this life for yourself
you knew its promise, or, rather,
the premise of your undertaking.

As the astrologer said,
you chose a difficult path.

Your trines spell out 
what you already knew to be true,
that in this lifetime
you will repeatedly be 
squished into nothing, 
and with each squishing you will (must)
experience intense and prolonged pain
but with each squishing the pain
will be less intense and less prolonged
until you come to understand
that you are incorrect in your interpretation 
of nothing.

Nothing can also be everything. 

If you are now wondering if all interpretations
are incorrect, you are moving in the
correct direction.

This is why it feels like you know less now
than you once thought you knew. 

Nothing and everything are the same.

Everything is colored by your interpretation
a.k.a. karma.

Don't misinterpret the word karma's meaning as
what happens to you
but rather as what you are doing 
with what happens to you
and how you are happening to others
and how you are happening to yourself
and how much you prolong your squishing
when you refuse to be squished. 

Surrender to the squishing. 
The squishing will not destroy you.
We already discussed what I mean
when I say nothing.

There is nothing wrong with being nothing. 

Don't bother with the dictionary!
Stop that. 
You have already been squished to nothing a thousand times!
And you are still here, existing!

The eternal part of yourself
that exists forever (and ever)
(and ever)
chose the timing of this email perfectly. 

Your bones are softer now. 
Your composition increasingly malleable.

You are ripe for more squishings,
and I am ripe for squishing you more and more
into nothing.

Let yourself be reduced.

Take your rightful place in this world
as a vulnerable creature,
needy and capable of profound love.

Capable of being squished, 
and capable of squishing others.

Wield your power carefully, 
for it is meaningless 
across all of our lifetimes
if you cannot see its meaninglessness
in this one. 

Oh hey! You made it to the end of the poem? Wow. Thanks so much for reading my maybe-a-poem.

I’d love to know how it felt, what it means to you, and your, erm, interpretations. Tell me in the “comments,” which can also be called “conversations.”