You can either sit down and let someone you "love" treat you like ****. Or you can can stand up, demand better for yourself and walk away. The choice is yours.

some songs have sung "I hope I die before I get old" and its too long ago to remember who sung it(to give the credit)
but you know the truth of their lyric applies to all ages up to, and for some,  a hundred years or more, now that's refreshing. OH and by the way I think it was Roger Daltry of The Who. Singing "My Generation"

How to paint the wind?

A distant cry,
the wave of a willow?

The vortex of void,
silencing pain?

The bliss of a breeze,
the fairy touch of hope?

The scent of destruction?
An adventurous flavour?

Ah...!

The swallows are dying
in the redness of leaves.

one step one day

love's ecstasy,
a roadkill
losing itself
in the rearview,
in a zombified sway

one day one step

stuttered thrive,
now you will,
now you won't,
oh but the horizon
is a watercolour
and you hold a rainbow
on a string

one step one day

one night
all the way,
you know it,
its lava bubbling,
hollowed in black

one day one step

nothing lays ahead
and it doesn't matter,
your mumbling
was meant to be,
childish like,
learning to walk
failing the fall

one step one day

You go I go
A firemans pledge
Grasping a buddies hand
Hanging over the ledge
Below them
An immense raging fire
There is no doubt
The situation is dire
Their bravery matched
By no other
Giving there life
For their brother
Every call
Fraught with danger
Battling fires
For a stranger
No matter the need
They stand ready to act
Heroes amongst us
That's a fact

Perhaps on an idle afternoon
when sadness lies heavy on chest
your eyes shimmering like crystal moon
upon my poems would come to rest.

Words of love and touching her shore
yearnings sharp as edge of knife
wrote my mind of twenty four
gathering all from a half seen life.

You flip the pages as years roll down
reach to where past high tides sailed
the ink flows soft as calm of dawn
in peace of void when heights are scaled.

You close the book breathing a sigh
your eyes are wet of misty dew
by then fallen twilight asks you why
the poet on the cover looks like you.

What she whispers to the deity

in her daily evening prayer
from her lips' quiver
I try to hear

I try to understand
what she asks of her god
with folded hands

is it her own welfare she prays
begs from the deity
well being of her family
wealth and safety

or her prayer is not that small
she asks god for the good of all

I am not sure
but deep within feel
her prayer is pure

through years of asking
but never receiving
she has quit
praying for any specific thing

she prays as a need
as an inseparable thought
whether god heeds her
or not.