You are just down the road.
You have no idea how much I want to lie beside you and gently kiss your chest.
Because it is the place closest to your heart.
After all this, I may need mine resuscitated to ever re-start.
But why God when I want to love for the first time,
Am I so rejected and fed so many exhaustive lies?
How can my bambi love be so brutalised?
It makes me want to close up shop and never give again.
Or go back to my old callous ways, to a bar in a tight dress and live in sin.
Yet I am curious of what is on the other side of trying to love you.
I have a suspicion we could really create something good and true.
I also have a suspicion you may never want to know me, or even your real you.
Are you the other half of me?
Or am I utterly deluded, wanting reckless cycles of misery?
Wanting a man to have the say, the power and control;
So I never have to stretch and find out what I am really made of inside my half of my soul?
So I never have to feel the grief of losing myself completely to the role;
of being my Dads wife substitute and the filler of his holes?
Why are women often cowards with our substance?
Why do we abdicate our gifts to over nurture in almost every instance?
No wonder we end up so bitter and twisted,
the equality of things is so warped and injured.
I could put on a smile and make you a meal,
Nurture you like a mother, never knowing more than the surface onion peel.
Then go to the bedroom and get undressed,
and put on a show and a total praise fest.
Then I might think that you care for me,
for just a few seconds or minutes in an empty vacuous embrace.
Lying there knowing you’ve never asked me one question about myself, my life, my souls purpose – I literally could be any face.
Or I could grow courage and excavate every single bit of error and strife.
Get to know myself and who God created through her eyes,
then I could sing and dance for the rest of my life.
Create a life so alive that it sparks life into others lives.
Adopt suffering children and help others access their grief.
Allow myself to be fully me, what a fucking exhale of relief.
I don’t get what you are doing, I don’t know how to respond.
It feels like you’re taking our potential Holy Bond,
And choosing numb dull nothingness, the spark is almost gone.
We could be so in love, serving God and thriving.
Instead we are separated, broken and that potential feels like it’s dying.
Written September 2020
I was gifted some truth about this poem from Mary and would like to share it here, as I feel it makes it so clear as to how much my dad issues from emotional incest warp my idea of what love is:
“I know you feel like there is a potential dying – but that is not the potential for love happiness or soul mate connection. It is the potential for abuse and addiction.
This, healing your hooks and holes, grows the potential for you to love and join with your soul mate.
It’s funny isn’t it, how hard the injury and false belief fights for itself in us. It feels like such a loss or that there will be nothing left once it is gone. “