Feeling sad
the same old same old
is happening yet again
despite the usual assurances
more creatively and convincingly
presented than in the past
The sudden shift from a priority
to a text-based relationship
is depressing
but not really unanticipated
My expectations must be too high
for the reality of the human male
any human male
no matter how fabulously
he presents himself
but I can't live with anything less
I wish I could
is this really when the work begins
or is it time to move on?
NaPoWriMo...and beyond... Prosey poetry and free verse. Unapologetically real recovery. My words, my life, my experience.
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Marking a moment
And
You're gone.
You did tell me,
right from the beginning
of that last conversation
that lasted several weeks,
that
you were about to die and
you wanted to make amends
to me
before you did
for the insanity of our teenage years
and that last, soul-destroying betrayal.
I thought you meant that you had a
condition, injury, or disease that was
impacting your quality of life,
possibly terminally.
Then
in the very last contact,
you told me
you were committing suicide.
I thought you were playing the
same old games, the tiresome manipulations
because you were not getting what you wanted
which was...me.
I stopped the contact.
And then a few weeks later...
the obituary
No guilt but a quiet thoughtfulness.
What karmic significance was entangled
in our brief contact, your death, and
the craziness that was last weekend?
The scales are balanced again
though I did not know they were
out of balance.
You did. You told me. I thought.
Written for Poets United Midweek Motif, "Watershed Moments", 9/2/15
You're gone.
You did tell me,
right from the beginning
of that last conversation
that lasted several weeks,
that
you were about to die and
you wanted to make amends
to me
before you did
for the insanity of our teenage years
and that last, soul-destroying betrayal.
I thought you meant that you had a
condition, injury, or disease that was
impacting your quality of life,
possibly terminally.
Then
in the very last contact,
you told me
you were committing suicide.
I thought you were playing the
same old games, the tiresome manipulations
because you were not getting what you wanted
which was...me.
I stopped the contact.
And then a few weeks later...
the obituary
No guilt but a quiet thoughtfulness.
What karmic significance was entangled
in our brief contact, your death, and
the craziness that was last weekend?
The scales are balanced again
though I did not know they were
out of balance.
You did. You told me. I thought.
Written for Poets United Midweek Motif, "Watershed Moments", 9/2/15
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