The Obstacle

She begins with a tight grip as any pirate would cling to a treasure found. But you are a wild horse who cannot live in containment and though you try, she knows you want to gallop your way out of the tiny fence she built. Derived by her hurting pride, she pushes you away. She acts so cold and uptight as though she does not need you but she terribly does. She torments herself in your absence and make believe in the new life she is building; a happy life free of her attachment from you. Her heart yearns for you and your company but you’ll never know. She’s a great actress and she puts up a great show effortlessly. She’s had practice as early as childhood, she has done this for years.

The Grip

Fate favors your friendship once again. You find your way into each other’s arms because life happens. You are stronger and wiser now, you do not let the small smudges ruin a beautiful picture. In this moment, you are certain to keep this friendship forever. In fact, she no longer sees you as a friend. You are family. She accepts your toxic traits as you have accepted hers. She picks you up from your mess as you do to her. Her father left her when she was young, she felt betrayed and she only knew the feeling of betrayal until there was you. Even when you betrayed her once. You were her constant though she wasn’t yours. She believes you both have ****** families and you are now her rock. Often times when she feels she is losing you, she goes back to the beginning of the cycle until she feels the same security again and again and again. She tightens her grip on you now as she thinks you cannot lose her. She has stood by you and you will stand by her. Always. Constant.

The Reckoning

She is delighted when you are happy but she feels threatened when your happiness turns into something serious. She needs to make sure that she is constant. It is important. She needs to be constant no matter how many people comes into both of your lives. She feels that it is her responsibility to make sure you are with the right person and she will not accept anyone less than perfect. Like a mother giving away her child to the person they are fated to love, she is having the hardest time. But she is not your mother, she is only your friend and her actions will never be understood. She is possessive of the people she loves when she feels the same love back even if it is not in the same amount. People that love her are her treasures. She will cling to them like any pirate would. She will repeat her cycle of push and pull over and over and over only to feel important. She always told people to love themselves fiercely as though she did not struggle to love hers. Finally, the day came where exhaustion conquered love. She blames her heart, her need for attachment and her illusion of constants.

I'd love if I could tell,
That I wish you well,

But, (and there's always butts)

Any wish I have to pay for,
I reserve to myself.

Throughout my whole life I was taught not to feel
Discouraging put downs had first spun this wheel
Later the numbness extended to violence
Inequity towards me was stuffed until silenced
This armor had left me with no wounds to heal

This type of existence proved no way to live
My walls were torn down by my wife and my kids
Sensing such weakness and seeking to profit
She sunk the knife deep into me and she lost it
With shoves from my daughter to anguish I slid.

A child gets the access to do the most damage
Her taking advantage of weakness was savage
The lies and deceiving had gone on for years
Once I could see that it brought me to tears
This wound that she made will take so long to bandage

I've been told that
if I see something beautiful
(a flower, for instance),
I should leave it alone,
let it grow and bloom.
But, I'm only human,
and I've spent a long time
holding on to nothing.
So I say pick the flower,
hold it, smell it, love it,
and stop wasting your life
wanting something that is
right before your eyes.

As a young man in love,
I was selfish.
I walked with you,
I shared food,
I slept with you,
It was my insatiable thirst;
Desire, and
I needed to gulp it,
At any cost,
For survival.
Perhaps you felt likewise.
I didn't know.

Now, being older,
That
Which I do
Out of love,
I do for you.

How did Love,
Of all things,
Become so entangled with selfishness?
The poets used to write pages just to admire their beloved’s hair;
Now they just write lines lamenting their own unfulfilled desires.
Love used to mean
Wishing someone happiness
Wishing a wonderful life for the admired one;
But now,
Love means cursing your beloved,
Or feeling sorry for yourself,
If love is not returned.
How do we get back to real Love?
How do we get back
To admiring each other,
Caring for each other,
Wishing the best for each other?
How do we teach
(and learn)
To truly Love each other
Without requirement?
How do we teach
(and learn)
That Love,
Real, True Love
Does not ask for anything in return.

I wish that all mirrors could be windows,
Having had quite enough introspection.
I want to live in the world the world knows,
The world that is more than my reflection.

Trapped behind walls seeing nothing but me,
These mirrors have cost me my perspective.
If I’m all there is, who am I to be?
Solipsism is no man’s objective.

I peer through the glass right back into my face.
I don’t even know if I’m seen behind.
Windows are mirrors to the human race,
But the reflection in mine makes me blind.

I wish that all mirrors could be windows,
But scared the world won’t like what I expose.

Melted into my cushion below.
Wood before me, ceramic circles.

Cold vibrations buzz in the air,
Carrying tales.
The same... but different.
Repeatedly blasting my eardrums,
Gripping my mind in a chokehold.
Pounding in messages all the same.
Dreadfully, droning. On and on.

Where is it coming from?
The icy daggers that pierce me deeply,
Killing my hope?

In front, on cushions of their own.
Countless figures lined up with circles.
Shadows, smiling and laughing. Repeatedly.

Same stories. Same atttibutes.
Distinct figures externally.
Each internal voice... the same.

My ears lift like feathers.
Flying in hopes of warmth.
Only to meet the same,
Inconsiderate.
Icy.
Instruments under each figures nose.
Eating their flesh on ceramic circles.

As my wings fold, I sing my song.
Warm but filled with color.
Scented with lavender.
Tasting of pepper.
Rainbow vibrations warm the table.

The figures become clearer.
My friends, family, strangers all near.
Talk of themselves everyday all year.
My words distinct. Reach every ear.

Strange questions and tales; none true.
Alone at the table but surrounded I sit.
Wishing to hear my words returned.
My wings stay chained, my heart cold.
How many jokes have I told?
How many smiles have I seen?
How long has it been?

Speak for them. To drown them out.
Leaving smiles on every mouth.
Have no friends and get no help.
Speak to them, talk to myself.