Close my eyes,
pretend,
pretend.

Join me for my masquerade,
me, ferromagnetic
you, attracted.

Together we venture,
just for a night,
turning make-believe

into our own reality.
Throwing around
fancy words

habseligkeiten,
parapluie,
figurati,

as if we are aristocrat
and for this one moon,
you’re mine.

Traditional, tried and true,
stored in cabinets and dresser drawers,
a child-proof ***** cap away from
relief

...still waiting, so many headaches
gone in a ****, a sign of appeasement
of a pain far away, but this feeling
lingers

...anxiety, until I pick up the ink.
modern, new age, alternative they say,
no matter, the strife flows onto the page,
reprieve.

There is no such thing as a wrong choice.
There are only past right choices
that give way to new right choices
in the present moment.

I won’t be like him,
A vow made with steadfast determination.
His anger, his screams, his short fuse.
Always walking on eggshells.
I. Won’t. Be. Like. Him.

Psychotherapy couches,
spiritual sojourns,
plunging into self-help books,
journaling away anxieties.
Years of not being him.

Just when I thought I was free of his spell,
a combustion out of nowhere,
unable to control the waves of emotions,
the past came back to haunt me.
Now you are walking on eggshells.

A Thousand Voices

Create a symphony of solutions
(confusion.)
The fearful friend
(misery loves company they say),
exclaims, Don’t do it! You’ll be
lonely the rest of your life.
The spiritual guru
(enlighted, so listen, right?)
peacefully proposes, Just
observe, the answer is within you.
The realistic pal
(reminding me I still have work to do),
proclaims, You’ll be wishing for
what you had once he’s gone.
The conniving critique
(you will hear what I have to say),
shouts, You’re such a failure!  
No wonder you can’t be loved.
The spokeswoman for the quarter-life crisis
(my potential!)
whispers, Get it right.  This is your
only chance in the game of life.
The satisfied sidekick
(change is harder than comfort),
sermonizes, You’re happy enough.
You need to count your blessings.

Busyness is my tourniquet,
keeping feelings at bay,
working hard to stop the flow of
Loneliness
           Despair
                     Anxiety
                               Depression
                                         Heartache
                               Anger
                     Jealousy
          Agony
Resentment
Trying to manage the pain
so all I can possibly feel is
happiness.

-How I stunt my emotional growth

Shattered into
several scraps,
an inner sculptor
surfaces and
I spawn
a shining,
salvaged
showpiece.