Married addiction
adopted denial
settled for basics
Espoused spirituality
ignored infidelity,
pulled down the blinds.
Believed compassion
could compensate
for indifference.
Limited my outlook
to windows, too insecure
to de-smudge the pane.
Missed the gaping doorways,
the blatant rudeness
of belligerent disrespect
Till withdrawal prompted
accountability, commanded
ownership, changed the lock.
(Image from personal collection.)
Never marry a man
who keeps an elephant
as a pet – trust me, I know.
No matter how slick
his explanations, please note:
elephants are not justification
for lapsed commitments, nor
hollow promises – relationships
can’t bear the costly weight of upkeep
no amount of toiling, cooking, or
maternal influence can detract
from the needs of animal outweighing
all other priorities – and don’t expect
sympathy from an elephant keeper’s
mother, she is in on the dupe, prayed
to offload this burden – compassion
fades swiftly in the face of giant-sized
demands, and elephants require feeding
If there’s an elephant in the equation,
I’d say cut the ties and the discourse –
no doubt another fool is waiting in the wings.
(Image: www.theapicalview.com)
Stripped back constructs
of disguised suppression
stir hopeful postulations –
I am bare-boned, dreaming,
questioning realities marred
by incestuous suspicions,
intending renewal, probing
dank floorboards housing
codependent disharmony.
This state of disrepair
manifests ego-inundated
trivialities, reveals burial…
blackened circles of rage –
coffin-like – implode, emit
entombed screams – echo
tremors of past fault lines,
destabilizing augmentation –
the liability of renovation.
My father’s eyes were the ocean,
hypnotizing, alluring, and I desired
to know their depth, their mysteries,
certain that true love dwelt there.
Volcanic was his temperament,
a constant fiery, churning nature,
that both awed and frightened –
danger always lurking: precarious.
He was the mountain, and we; his
offspring cowering in his shadows,
smothered by his darkness, only
dreaming of light: tortured souls.
Impotent in the face of his angst,
sought reparation elsewhere, looked
for his soul in the heart of others,
longed for healing from his disease.
Found eyes like his, mannerisms
that mimicked, aspired to love,
encountered unspoken truths:
learned of addiction’s demons.
Ran from one man to another,
constantly confronting same
wall of denial, dance of anger,
insurmountable debilitation.
I am my mother’s daughter,
congenial to a fault, driven
to please, pleased to submit,
an alcoholic’s dream mate.
Like my mother, I long for
something indescribable –
certainly unattainable – believe
that I am fated, unlovable.
Fallen, as I have, as she had,
into the mesmerizing blue
of his ocean, craving to know
the love that surely dwells there.
One Woman's Quest 