If that was a blast of love
I’d hate to see your hate.

Your blunt, forceful love
comes from fear,
rains in blows,
and leaves me -
smaller, sadder,
reactive—
reeling for equilibrium.

Trust in you
Trust in me
Trust in we
feels more
achievable today,
accessible today,
unforced.
A gentle welling
in my empty torso.
This one that felt cavernous,
echoing, hollow.
Missing
that vital lifeblood,
this swelling of emotion.

Did you know
you go right to the heart of me
when you see, and accept me,
completely?

My trust was so broken,
you’re examining those pieces
and helping me
put them (carefully)
back together.

Turn it off—
the tv.
That noise,
that mindlessness.
It has no place for me,
and I have no place for it,
not anymore.
It reminds me
of endless, empty nights
at opposite ends of the sofa
Now, when I try
I have no patience,
no interest
in those bright, empty lights.
Let me write poetry instead.

I panic, stay..
panic, stay.
Panic, talk about it—
and slowly see the trust rising.
Panic—question.
Waver; and discuss.
I appreciate you
for being steadfast.
This behaviour
is because of a wound,
a recently recognised wound,
that stole my trust
and it takes time
to take it back.

Is it all about the money
The petty money
The meaningful money
The symbolic money, money, money?

The symbol of care
The power
The asking
The giving
Withholding.

The emotions swell.
Bring them down,
get perspective,
breathe.

Actually, it’s all about the
children, children, children.