They clash head on,
Swords ruling the battle,
War cries ringing loud.

The quickening of blood
Slowly painting crimson
The blades wielded by men.

I see the fire in your eyes,
Passion of your bravery
And courage of heart.

I see a gentleness of love
In your power and strength,
You fight as no other ever.

For the battle is not always
Clearly chosen for self,
But for whom is precious.

I'll have you think me crazy, to justify my own ineptness.
                Brand me as lazy to ease the regret fest.
                       Bind me in safety nets so I can forget stress.
                             Tell me I'm fine, so I can accept less.

Conditional beyond reasonable
Is how our relationship sometimes feels...
More often than I'd care to admit.

My love is unconditional
And, therefore, can be easily used (abused?)
The value forgotten or blinded whenever I act human, imperfect, fragile or broken... Inconvenient I am. So are we all.
Where does your anger come from?

Taken for granted
Until you find something YOU miss.
Over and over again, this cycle persists...

Only according to your terms
Only if convenient
Only if it serves your sole purpose
Only if maintenance-free
Only if easy... Perfect... Not too much trouble...

UNTIL there is something you need...
From me.
Yes, boundaries are a necessity.

But relationships based on
Convenience for oneself
Are not relationships, at all..
They are one-way streets
Serving one person's agenda

Controlling, manipulative, self-serving, emotional toil...
And, somehow, always justifiable (in your eyes)
Because I am not who you want me to be...

I don't fit your "ideal" mold.
And you feel that is what you are owed?
(I honestly don't know...)
Except when you feel alone, afraid, or empty.
You don't dare lose what you can use! (abuse?)

But dare I say or do something amiss...
Your "conditions" will persist.
How do I say "stop!" when my role is to love, protect, and forgive?

Pain. What to do with all the pain.
If I tell, I will be blamed for my pain causing your pain...
This, my love, is NOT love.
No relationship of substance exists
When such rules and expectations persist.

I never thought
to write again,
after self-doubt
and a loathing
for my words
infected me.

Knife wounds left
me scarred,
negativity to my craft
left me adrift
on a sea of questions.

But I healed.

The bleeding was stopped
by a true passion
for that creative sequence
of thoughts which leads to
poetry.

I healed.
I became strong.

I no longer feel
a need
to justify my work.

I write because.
Just because.