#beingsingle
It seems all great poems are about love.
For me, that's not the case.
It seems, as I read, we revolve around love,
Around this passion, fury, lifelong ache.
It seems that everyone knows what love is,
If they don't, they know what love should be.
It seems everyone desires to experience love,
They think that love will set them free.
That's not the case for me.
These words of longing, of beauty and desire,
Words that paint stars onto the sky,
Are words I cherish, admire and adore,
But not ones I try to exemplify.
I have never been in love.
Maybe one day, I will be.
Maybe one day, I will understand those words.
Perhaps, one day, I will read them and agree.
Today, I'll just try to be me.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
When that I should stop looking at the couples passing,
Smile, thinking I've had my day, and retreat, musing
"Some people grow up and get married, and are happy"?
And I don't, because being yoked is what I see it to be:
There is freedom for others in love, that I in my wanderings
Have not found; I was not meant in all my constant ponderings
To be mortal; I was not meant to not question a tie to one:
I am condemned as the artist to observe, and taste, but, for one,
Never know, because I am Nature's scribe, and Chaos' vessel.
Perhaps one day I should concede, and cease to wrestle
With mortality, that there is a level-headed fellow out there
To be my foil, who I can wrestle with instead, through fair,
Unfair and to the last day of our wear down to dust,
Such a one who has my perpetual (grudging) admiration and trust.
I can see myself, crowned with fat braids, kneading bread
As he complains to me of the vicissitudes that rise from bed
At work, my writing in a tidy heap as the children, crossing swords,
Threaten to bring down our careful peace and all my words.
With doughy arms I reprimand them, and set them to the work
They yet think of as play, and sit, my arms around his neck
Whispering sweet words of comfort, wisdom, love,
And he'll look at me in turn, ready to move
Earth, sky, and stars, let alone fire his secretary...
But I, for now, only know how to write poetry.
Doubt truth to be a liar,
Doubt that there are heavens above,
Doubt in the burning power of fire,
Never doubt: I do not love.
Jul 20, 2022
Jul 20, 2022 at 5:37 AM UTC
I'd get tired of the wait
Undress me and strip me bare again every season
Yes, I might enjoy the attention
But something I'd long,
is it so wrong?
More than just the adoration
I want you to make the bet
Always an onlooker,
never a taker
I wonder how it would be to go home with you
I promise not ask you to jump over the bar
Even though I know I can't give much either
That'd be more than what you'd bargain for
That'd be more than what I'm capable, and I'd lie to me,
Or until I learn to do so, maybe
but should I
would I?
Can I?
To bet my whole existence on something so fleeting?
your mere feeling
Although the power of persuassion
sometimes is a pressure so strong alone
Would you discard me,
once you take me?
Would I be less lonely,
would you be less lonely?
Would you regret me?
Would I regret me?
...
Sometimes I wonder so
and this yearning that I crave to know
But, always an onlooker,
never a taker
...
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
Nobody ever met me in a bar
There’s not enough room in there
Where do I put my childhood
All the friends I’ve known
All the times I've been alone
I wonder if anybody would care
I wonder if I’ve had my finest hour
Maybe I could ask my daughter
I think it was when she was a baby
But only I remember those times
Only I remember those rhymes
And not the baby held by her father
I’m not hard to get to know
The book is always open
But there aren’t any pictures
You’re gonna’ have to read it on your own
I left myself behind in the car
I just don’t want to talk about it
Being a stranger is easier
Just someone for you to walk by
Just someone who won’t make you cry
You’ll never know that I’m worth it
I’m not hard to get to know
Sometimes the book is out on loan
But I’ll be back on the shelf soon
I know there's a lot of pages to turn
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
Nothing is louder than silence
No sound is more pure than
The soundless meditation of souls
And the beating of innocent hearts
Yet, I look for beauty
In an hourglass figure
Behind the reflection of a mirror
The condensed dew of a morning sapling
I know I will never find someone
To complete me in the ways you do
Hell and heaven oppose each other
While silence and emptiness are the closest of friends
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 1:12 PM UTC
as I sign in on dating apps,
thinking what pictures to upload
and what stories to tell..
I realise how alone and lonely and desperate I feel,
for the attention and applause and acknowledgement…
but why am I seeking those from a stranger..?
as I swipe left and right and engage myself in conversations…
“Going with the flow” or “whatever sails your boat” is not how I could ever define a relationship or a date…
there’s something that makes me feel and wonder about the whole concept of finding someone in this way….
wherein nobody remembers asking you out,
nobody remembers your face or the conversations you had with them…
so now I ask myself what am I still searching for…?
And does it even exist…?
Feels like I’m lost….!!!
Lost my words,
Lost my respect,
Lost my belief and faith in people,
But not my overwhelmed feelings……
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 2:37 PM UTC