#singleness
it is magical
and mundane
it is freeing
and confining
it is sad
and hopeful
it is whimsical
and weary
it is lovely
and lonely
it is beautiful
and worrisome
it is exciting
and terrifying
it is painful in its longing
and wonderful in its hope
it is stretching
and settling
it is comforting
and confusing
it is clarifying
and disorienting
it is joyful
and aching
it is a lifetime of words
and sometimes in its numbness
it is no words at all
to be single far past when
you
ever
thought
you’d
be.
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 1:45 AM UTC
I won't try to hide my dissatisfaction.
I did that for so long, after all.
I dropped a digital gauze over the weeping wounds
while a capable physician flowed salve from his side.
I did it so long that they did scar
and the flesh hardened over my heart
so that it was stuck years behind the rest.
But I say again, it hardened
and its smooth surface was closer to plastic
than a youthful tent.
Now I think I've finally opened them to the chill air
and it would seem such a breeze melts the tissue.
It's all open for folks to see
and I find myself pressing my hand to the opening
trying not to spill on my fellows.
One brother assures me that he would catch it in his hands
and look into it, and absorb it, and report back on it
but I find that coming out of the shame-shaped cave
is holding me back from withdrawing my weakness.
I call to the physician who knows me so well
(for he has not ceased his vigil beside me)
and in close he comes, fingers reaching
for the slashes on my chest.
But seemingly of its own accord
the hand unoccupied by the job of stopping the flow
pushes the physician away.
And once he is far enough
that I can take my eyes off him
something strange happens in me.
I start to bargain with the physician for things
instead of letting him just do his work.
It's as though I won't be content closing these wounds
with real, living flesh.
It's as though I want another flesh thrown in
to become one with.
And some part of me thinks
I can ply the physician's promises
to get what I want.
I'm convinced he wants to give me gifts
once the treatment is through
(a good doctor celebrates with his patients, after all)
so maybe I'm just not patient or appreciative enough.
And I wonder what would happen
should I get the gift I keep hinting at.
As I said, these wounds are younger than the rest of me
and so I think I have some catching up to do with myself.
And I wonder then if I can even keep up with those my age
or if I'd be seen through as a fool and dismissed.
Or perhaps I'll finish the treatment, content to endure it
and then when the gift is offered I push that away, too.
I know why that would be.
Something resembling the gift has been offered
only once in my lifetime
and that for only a couple weeks.
And before that, I tried to wrestle the gift away
from the physician's hands well before I was ready
and my name wasn't even on the box.
The result is that I have very little hope
in what may happen should I venture
to actually reach for the gift.
For I would be loathe not to mention
that there is another pair of hands on the gift at all times
and those hands must have their way, too.
I suppose I've come to believe somewhere
that those hands are always cold and clutching and miserly.
This, despite knowing how warm and open they can be
on my back
or simply shaking my own.
In my self-serving imagination
here I have forgotten that those hands extend
from their own hearts.
And from there my heart turns to a fear
that I could not care for such a heart
and from there I remember that
someone else has already claimed the bulk of that responsibility.
And even as I write this
the physician stands
and I think I hear him sighing.
And why shouldn't he be?
After all, I look rather silly
with my hand over my open heart
and the red dripping on my shoes
and seeping into my shirt
and staining my fingertips
and all the while muttering,
"I need the healing -- and something else, too."
I can't even say I've been driven to desperation yet.
And it is because the truth is
I could go the rest of my life
with these wounds still open.
It would be uncomfortable
and it would keep one hand unfit for service
but I could do it.
And the physician will one day take me home
even if he's shaking his head at my foolishness
'til the very end.
I don't want that to be the final picture of my life.
But to be honest with you and the physician
I have one alternative I prefer
and one I really don't.
I haven't even talked about how it feels like
both are being pushed my way
at the same time
all at once
by everybody.
But as long as I'm still being honest
I'm not going to
because I feel tired just thinking about it.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 5:21 PM UTC
She's the one who listens, the one you go to
She isn't the passive silent type,
No, she feels everything for you too.
She is the one who will answer at two in the morning
And actively participate like she wasn't just yawning.
She is also the one who fights her demons at night
Who feels that everyone is too preoccupied to question her might.
She is the one whose sheets are ice cold
Because she has no one to hold.
She is the one who never has a missed call
Because she isn't someone's missing heartstring
No one at all.
No goodmorning text or where should we go next
No one to bother or to get vex.
She is the one who mediates invisibly and shows you a different angle
Who tries to save what she may never know
But like Olivia Pope she will help you handle.
She is the one who will replace you at the edge of a tower
And talk to you nonstop for hours.
She is the one who will push you until your head is full
Yet she is the one you trust when you are entangled.
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 6:53 AM UTC
I'll bear the greatest temptations,
Lest it make me waste away,
Those moments of passion rightfully yours.
The thought that you exist,
Banishes the feeling that I'm alone.
Such is my love for you, oh woman,
Whom I do not know,
That I shall seek no pleasure in the present,
But wait with faith for God to show,
That a man of virtue exists for you
And you exist for him to know.
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
Often I wonder which is harder
'Singleness or Marriage'
How do we do it?
The struggles of being with someone and remain purified sexually
The focus we must attain in this manner
The mindset of suppressing lust and passion
Remaining without touch till the set time
Our partners how they seemingly accept the challenge but later deviate;
With talks like ‘am only human’.
How we look innocent but crave deep down for a tiny piece
The chain of celibacy a slavery we were made to follow
Or else anguish and chastising
Am broken and torn
The lessons I learnt I hold dearly
Corinthians stated worries
Oh my fate!
When whilst thou end, this status I cross around my neck
Wait! but don’t look waiting
The side talks and jest, the respect long lost
Yours will be the latest I know
Happen already!
Wait on God permanent anthems now
Smile and wave don’t show it
Or you are jealous.
Be happy and suppress
Be hopeful and pray
For how long!
Be patient, kind,
God’s time is the best
Oh when!
It’s been 3 decades and counting
No judging authority
I only want to be loved
Now I live for myself alone no deviation from love and service
I will do not just right but the right way
With God before me.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 6:47 AM UTC
Ain't no hope for this restless soul.
My work is the only piece I find whole.
The rest of me I am yet to see.
The rest of me needs to get away from me.
My bitter past is holding me back.
Future needs to be fixed, stacked on a rack.
Maybe next year I'll find a better replacement of you.
Or I can start this year, while my beers are still cold and new.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC