I’m living with a sometimes generous,
usually big-hearted, overly needy woman,
whose wants supercede consideration for others –
a princess who has it all, and still can’t get over
her father’s abandonment.

We’re living in an opulent home
with every possible luxury and it’s
always a mess – always disorganized –
because she expects everyone else to do
everything for her, and my compulsion to
fix kicks in and I want to straighten out this
space, but she’s flirting with new opportunities
as if they were younger men, desiring her money.

I try to work around her, pick up the pieces
of those angered by her self-indulgence, not
wanting to burden her with any of the responsibility –
it was a pre-stated condition of our co-habitation –
sifting through her clutter trying to discern value
from trash – everything loses its glitter in excess –

compulsion drives me deeper into the situation;
instead of admitting it’s not working out, I push
harder – like a stubborn teenager, unaware of the
consequences of my actions, entitled, going nowhere.

Unable to admit that I have no power, just have to
put up with it – it’s almost tearing us apart – why
have I taken on so much responsibility, assigned
myself to clean up all the messes, and at what point
do I cut my losses, walk away…and, can I even walk
away when I’m only living with myself?


Self-Sabotage Perhaps?

 Proficient at goodbyes; specialize in endings;
excel at vacation relationships;
protest conformity –
can never see the value in how another does things –
pain in the neck; prefer to drive (although currently unable);
can cooperate, facilitate, bend my perspective
to fit in – graduate of the school of con –
am unfaithful to those ties that could propel me
forward; escape at every opportunity;
see predators in possible allies, view deficits
as insurmountable, take risks as long as
they don’t involve real change;
would remain underground,
if not so compelled to ignore limits;
the wear and tear on my body just blips
now navigating emotional waters,
looking to land.


War is Hell

The battlefield still smolders,
oppressive gray smog hovering
The landscape is scarred,
ravaged reminders of war.

Origins borne of uncertainty,
fear spurred by righteousness
and a disgust of imperfection,
prolong the futile fight.

Subtly, imperceptibly,
defenses strengthen,
confidence renews
but the opposition
will not be silenced.

War is hell.
Unfair, biased,
blinded, deceitful.
Sacrificing the innocent,
destroying potential.

War is hell –
especially when….
the battleground
is the Self.


Dream House

There is a house that I often visit in my dreamtime.  I am either thinking about buying it, or have just moved in.  It is set in the country, high up on a bluff overlooking the water.  It is not a new house, nor does it stand alone; it shares the quiet street with other houses, different from itself.  Tall trees line the street, and green sloping lawns surround the house.  The setting is idyllic, but I have concerns about the house.  Sometimes the house appears as a yellow brick, two-story, older style home; other times it is a small white raised ranch.  Every time, I worry that the house is not big enough for comfort.

When I enter, the main living area appears cosy, and has a certain charm.  It is liveable, I think to myself.  Then I look around, and am amazed to find that there is so much more to this house than I first thought.  Always there is a second kitchen and living area, as well as endless bedrooms and bathrooms.  I awaken with a feeling of pleasant surprise and a longing to explore more.

* * * * *

None of the houses, nor the setting in the dream are places I’ve been to in my lifetime, however; there is a certain familiarity.  The setting is a feel good place:  quiet and serene, and off the beaten path.  Years ago, as a single mother, I used to drive up to the lake and admire the houses on the bluff, wishing one day that I could live there. I would dream of a simpler life, where I could be close to nature, and write.

The old, yellow house reminds me of a rental property my former husband and I bought, hoping it would be an investment that we would profit from.  The house turned out to be a money pit and a bit of a nightmare.  We just didn’t know enough about real estate values at the time.

The white house reminds me of the home my parents bought at the lake for their retirement; a home that became a wonderful gathering place for friends and family.

Often, I think the house in my dream represents me:  aging, and plain on the outside, although surrounded by beauty and comfort.  Inside, I appear uncomplicated at first, yet there is more to me than even I know.  I love the idea that there are many more rooms to discover within.