Monday

A telephone call from the Doctor.
He wants to know why I haven't been to see him
and no he can’t come to me unless
I open the door.  The old one used
to leave medicine on the window sill,
this one has rules I think.  He's young
so he follows them.

Tuesday

The Vaseline smears on the window have faded
and now they’re not enough to obscure the truth.
Smoke and mirrors of inclement weather
need to be framed and hung.
I’ll have to buy more.
In preparation I disappear inside
my coat.  No-one sees me,
but now the cat is cold and
he'll need litter instead.

Wednesday

Made up faces are patronising me from
the South Bank, concerned to find me
hiding in cobwebs.  I beg them to stop.
They suggest I call this number and choose
A, B or C.  

Thursday

I find mould growing in the bath.
I water it down
and make finger paintings
of the people I used like.  
Sludgy green eyes and plug hole hair,
rust coloured cheeks.
I don’t remember enough but it suits them.

Friday

Sharp toothed children knock on my door.
They want their laughter back.  I tell them
I can’t do that, using the letterbox and
gingerly offering the tears I’ve collected.
My hand is slapped from underneath.
I’m drying out.

Saturday

I stay in bed today.
The floor is slipping away.

Sunday

I watch Songs Of Praise
and pray.  He'll get back to me tomorrow.

A life lived in black and white.  No time for middle of the road.  Lines drawn straight and narrow.  Passion, only with rules.  Love, only as stated.  A heart filled with admiration, adoration, and caring.  Nothing missing from the list of "supposed to".  All boxes checked off. I's dotted and T's crossed.  Perfect on paper, perfect to onlookers, perfect in bed.  Never a thought of something missing.  All boxes checked.  Not able to settle into a life.  Unable to blur the lines.  Must be good, always good.  Mistakes happen, but not on purpose.  Not by choice.  

Always the good one
Right is the only option
Mistakes...still happen

Before we fully become, life is full of confusion.  Who we are and what we do are enmeshed within our surroundings, our perspective, our emotion, and our lives.  Pulled together, yet fighting every step of the way.  Beyond our understanding of purpose or passion.  Afraid of everything we are as yet unable to understand.  Trying to get through to the next phase without falling too hard.

Peers skew vision
Rules confine the innocent
Love hides unnoticed

Grown into a life of checks and balances.  A nice life, a good life.  Loved by many, yet alone.  Always alone.  Able to love, willing to love, believing love is what is being lived.  Unseen circumstances. Friendships remembered.  Longing, pulling toward one another.  More than passion could ever be.  More than who we thought we were.  The need to be right, to do the right thing, is stomped unrecognizable by emotion.  The past melts into the future.  Is a life unfulfilled, yet loving, enough to maintain, or is love supposed to be so full of passion that it takes you outside the box?  

The thought of a life
A love left unrealized
A world in a cage

A chance to live in happiness. Fires burn in body and mind.  No sorrow, no regret.  Pushed by one into another.  Two hearts alone run to each other.  Holding fast to all that is real.  Yet casualties will line the road forever tainting all that could be good.  Checks and balances. Pros and cons.  Does one give up happiness to maintain the perfect facade, the perfect family, the "perfect" life?  There is no perfect.  There is only what is.  The possibility of happiness could be short lived.  Hearts broken and bridges burned.  Broken families, broken lives.  Happiness could be tangible.  Happiness could be real.  Pros and cons.  What price shall be paid.  When should love lose and happiness not be a goal?  Choices, pain, there is no fairness.  There is no black and white, there are no boxes in which to fit.  

Straight and narrow life
Checklists, I's dotted, T's crossed
Thwarted by passion