This feels like
going to sleep on an argument
because you’re too tired.
I’m tired too, but
the promise was
to never, ever do that.

I couldn't live in that
suffocating, silent marriage
for so long,
without being damaged.
It's the wall that I bang up against
the wall of blankness, absent feeling.
I have days of wonder and beauty
but then
the feeling of sadness creeps in to stay.
How do I overcome, rise above it?
How do I stay over the wall,
instead of living in its shadow?
How can I connect and be alive
real, living, positive?
I want to keep seeing the sunshine
and I long for that.
What work do I need to do
to stay where it's warm?
24 May 21.

I love that you always want me,
it eases a sore that is deep.
Should it be this way -
is it healthy?
Reassured desirability.
Or am hiding from healing the grief.

I rang, all business,
no feeling in my voice.
I could hear you,
guessing, trying to understand.
But I wasn’t there this time —
emotional wall up.
Your actions aren’t with me.
I wonder how long my wall
will stay up this time.

What are these feelings?
Wait, let me write them down in a poem,
mull it over,
find that exact word.
Then I’ll know.

It’s probably not a good idea
to fill a hole
with a distraction, but
sometimes a distraction
is better than loud thoughts.

So, we signed on the line,
undid ourselves
a little more.

Each page autographed
in the matching spaces
we don’t share anymore.

The burst of sadness
came unexpectedly,
I’d been expecting this day after all.

Of course it makes sense
to grieve history’s dust
and that we succumbed to the fall.

My weakness
can be what draws people to me.
So kind, so caring.
The thing is —
nobody wants me to be kind
in spite of myself.
It hurts more for them
if I compromise, smile,
rather than just
ripping the plaster off.

You’re reading my poetry,
the inside of my mind,
written when the emotions crest and
I have to get them out.

You’re reading my poetry.
It does not hide a thing.
The rawness and soreness
the ups and the downs
the confusion, the spirals.

Why did I tell you where to find me,
here in this sea of anonymity?

I feel untethered from you.
Unknowable.
Silent, and
behind walls.
There’s mistrust here,
a looking at actions
and finding them wrong.
So, uncertain, I look for more.
You feel this, and adjust your actions.
It must be exhausting,
like a marionette
without a player,
and we’re still quiet.
I’m still so quiet.

You’re connecting with my children
oh what a lovely sight.
Laughing together,
holding hands,
cooking, being.
It both warms and breaks
my heart.

Warm for the care and instant rapport;
the light in your eyes - you’re in love again.
Sad that they’re hungry for it;
clamouring for it;
and that it didn’t happen
in the family unit.

Thank you
for cooking me dinner,
for sending me home with lunch for tomorrow.
For showing your love
that way.

Thank you
for the unfailing positivity;
positive reinforcement
of all of my progress —
my determined, honest progress,
in its mottled glory.

Thank you for the listening ear,
warm arms, big heart.
For takeout runs and chocolate.
For showing love and care
in all the ways.

You are back
in my thoughts and my heart.
Like a tenacious ivy vine
with importunate tendrils.
I’d thought I had put the feelings to rest—
you’re not mine—
but here you are again
in the memories, the thoughts,
the everything.

Open doors
Silver linings
Genuine snatches of
interactions.

If your love is
an emotional barometer
then others need to measure.
The New was kind and clever;
but he didn’t bring
the right weather.

You look like me.
Jolt to the heart.
Arrogantly (I now see)
I had thought he’d never do as well
again.
And yet, you are beautiful
and seem kind.
It arrowed sorrow through
a gap in my armour.
I’d thought it *****-proof.
His best self again
after abandoning me?
I was great too.
I’ve learned new words though,
and I hope you know them too.
Emotional abandonment,
control, choice, trauma.
I’ve grown beyond them, so so far.
Green leaves, blue sky.
You, kindy teacher -
help keep my kids happy please.
I work hard to maximise the good
for them.
And, good luck with the rest, lady.
Not that I’m saying, but —
I wouldn’t recommend.

If making mistakes
Is part of growth
My mistakes
Are certainly helping me grow.

Here I stand
or lie
or sleep.

All the work to get here,
and the feelings feel
embarrassing,
self indulgent.
I want to hide them,
yet they keep returning.

I’ve worked through an ex.
I’ve sorted the mortgage.
Therapy for the trauma
(The trauma! Ridiculous!)
am out the other side…
still navel gazing.

About the rest of it.
The choices
the job
the restlessness.
Likeability, life purpose.

And just now,  
you’ve made me laugh
and laugh and laugh.
Thank you.

I don’t want a memory of you
in my head, bothering me.
Skip past our music,
avoid that place.
The little things that
make me miss you.
Go away.
Except,
you brought me love.
Self-confidence.
Memory seems to be the price.

Beautiful girl—
curved cheek,
laboured breath,
hot skin,
flushed face,
closed eyes,
rhythmic breathing.
Tucked in close.
Get better soon
my love.

I see myself,
going the wrong way.
I’m watching in slow motion
and I don’t stop it,
even though I know I should.
The emotional impact,
like a slow-burn of my heart,
has started engulfing me.
STOP going there.
But I keep doing it.

If I am sand by the sea,
my emotions are the water
rising up underneath,
ready to spill above the surface
at high tide.

I realise I’ve avoided this outlet,
this relief from ink and words
because my message isn’t bright enough,
clear enough.
Shiny and polished? Not enough.
‘Not loveable when you’re needy…’ worries the inner me.
Yet here, in this space of all things shared,
there’s no need to pretend.
No fawn response needed here
where it’s the honesty,
the brutal honesty,
that heals.
So, here I am again.
Stuff it.

The day of rest
interspersed with activity.
And tears.
I am sadly glad
that my heart can now process.
If I give myself this day
Can I be better tomorrow?

It’s comforting that
the love was true.
Unintentional, but true.
That the care is still there,
but the book can be closed.

My kids can be rude to you
It’s true.
You raise points
that I’m trying to absorb.
Why were feelings pent up
so much
to put me, us,
in this position?
There can’t be
competition.

My body is taut
wound
alert.
My stomach is churning;
my mind, churning too.
My heart - quite pleased actually.

So we’ll meet
and talk.
There’s nothing that my head admires here,
but my heart, wager of insurgent, prolonged war against my head -
demands a chance.
So, in the spirit of embracing the whole me, accepting the whole me,
She will have that chance.

But my head
will be back in full force soon...
it seems they have to agree
before I can find my balance.

I’m not thinking of you.
NOT…
thinking…
of…
you…

(Or are you awake
thinking of me
will this break
finally make
feelings subside)

I REFUSE
to think of you.

(Good luck with that).

I ask myself
Are you the one?
If you are the one,
then let us end this madness.
Let us be together.
My problem is,
I’m not certainly sure.
What if the ‘madness’ ends and creates
more.
Oh the storm that could be unleashed.
I miss you.
I don’t know that you would be able to live up to
What I need you to be
but perhaps you’d forge your own path.
Would having love, touch, talking
sustain us?
There are waves of longing, needing
Forced space eases these feelings
eventually.
But is it worth it?
Are the feelings real?
I think they are
I just don’t know
if they’re trustworthy
Or if my ability to walk away
without looking back
is something I should remember
and hang onto,
to avoid you
putting your eggs here
and for them to then be broken.

As I grow older
I see shades of grey.
Black and white disappearing.
Right and wrong?
Largely gone.
There are gradients,
with space there
for compassion.

OK, so my heart won that latest round
in the battle between head and heart
My head is sounding loud warnings,
but my heart is rejoicing.
Hold on!
The ride of life is speeding up…

I’d do anything
For you, dear, anything
Yes I’d do anything for you…

Would I forget my dreams?
Anything.

My psychologist says
'He's narcissistic'
His mother says
'He can't show his inner self'
I say
'He couldn't love me'
My heart says
'I love the other one'.

You are optimistic,
cautionless—
enthusiasm personified.
I am circumspect,
tentative—
still healing inside.
You wanted no drama,
sounded good to me.
Then we met and you declared yourself
there by the sea.
I worry I’m damaged,
emotions impaired.
I seem to need time
before I get there.
What if I hurt you
by letting things grow?
I’m wanting to learn you,
that’s when I feel that I’ll know.
I love your smile
your focus on both of us
the words that you whisper—
you want to be in love.
Your touch is so skilled,
it’s a revelation.
I want this to unfold,
but no need to hasten.
There are things that scare me—
your restless history,
financial rebuilding,
for some reason the loss
of that second kidney.
We like talking for hours
connect effortlessly.
Your care, commonalities,
joy, sensuality—
they make sense, they catch me.
I feel like you match me.

I read that we all have
an inner creativity
begging for release.

Begging for the light of day,
with us, even when ignored.
Within us, always,
for however long it’s ignored.

Then, if we embrace it,
however clumsily…
lo and behold!
It brings us joy.