NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 2: a to-and-fro on commitment




I really love you, I want to commit,

But life has me stressed

up to the armpits.



You love your stress, can’t live without,

you create it all ways.

In you I doubt.



If only they knew the short time they had left

they’d spend less on the lack,

nor let fear be their theft.



my life raft that no longer floats

inktuition life raft


I looked to without, instead of within,

the buoyancy aid that no longer swims


an external holding that was

just an illusion

a made-up craft, a

fake sense of inclusion.


So why hold on so long to an aid

that clearly no longer served me?


Was fear of drowning

the option that made

me feel I should adapt

and, probably, pervert

my core value?


Or was it the fear of feeling adrift

in a dark ocean of lonely:

that swaying sense of sad, of swirl,

afraid to let what is, unfurl.


(pic courtesy of

Unlucky thirteenth?

Who knows how many times we’ve split:

Is it five, nine, twelve times, or more?


Each time, we end back right where we started:

Square one. No better, no further.

The same old reunion,

the promises made anew.

Waiting for the other to change,

and no change beginning to come.

Then the same old fights,

scrabbling down the same old paths

of recognition and delusion.

So I wonder if this time, when we finally split for real

– for probably the thirteenth time –

will it possibly be lucky for some?

leaning into the lonely

There’s a magnetic lean to the front

of the elderly, knowing they’re dying.

Will I be next, they say

as their curiosity bends in

to smell the freshly tossed earth,

circling the inevitable grave.

There’s a reticence from the heart

of the broken soul knowing it’s over.

Will I finally leave, they ask,

as they submit to one more abuse

from a partner who says they deserve it.

When will alone beat feeling lonely?

A poem: the battle of him and me

He wants it quiet. I like it loud.

He prefers himself. I crave a crowd.

Listen to the battle of him and me.


He needs attention. I create it all.

He wants to know what’s real. While I just feel surreal.

Sense the battle of him and me.


He likes his sauce red. I much prefer brown.

He always shops for stuff. I prefer to verb and noun.

Articulate the battle of him and me.


He wants it every day. I’m more like once a week.

He’s pret-a-porter. I’m much more boutique.

Wear the battle of him and me.


He can forgive. I can judge and blame.

He sleeps with calm. I lie awake with shame.

So maybe this battle’s between me and me.