comments, dysfunctional family, Hopes, Dreams, Goals, mental health project, poem, poetry, poetry in the marking, Process of Life

Broken Up About It

Keep going every day anyway

Broken Up About It

I’m a natural.

Naturally, I see intentions. I see through words and past actions. I know what you conceal. I see straight to your motives. There’s a means to get what you want from me and how far you’ll go. But I see beauty too. I see it in simplicity and in chaos. The beauty of a wild storm, some would say that’s what we are. But mostly, I see beauty in quiet times when I sit alone.

Naturally, I feel the shift of zest in my veins. The vibrations that fill my spaces awaken my senses. My spirit is both aroused and choked. The atmosphere around me moves like a whirl and shakes within my being as the tiny hairs on my skin alert me that energy is changing again. The attitudes, the words, your face, and what it means. I unravel what’s honest from what is an act to keep me quiet. The empty hugs, those hollow smiling eyes. Truth is revealed.

Naturally, I know. Without explanation, I just know. It’s a burden to know what’s in that mind. The abandonment you feel and have me hold for you. What’s really behind those eyes of sincerity? Is it just more complacent? That story, false words, what’s said and unsaid. I know how it all goes. I’ll fill in the gaps with such accuracy. It’s terrible. As if I’ve done this all before, far too many times. A well-rehearsed performance but without applause.

It’s a tragedy and pulls my heart to pieces to know what’s inside the heart of those good-doers, the healer. Especially when it’s you. But oh, how it’s saved me a time or two to know what I do. This merry-go-round made me smarter, a protector of my own self-preservation. Smarter and wiser in the worst ways. I know what to look for, what to listen for. I know your ways, her kind too well. Sadly, you’ve both taught so much. A master’s degree in abuse.

Do you really love me? I know you do…and you are broken up about it.

Naturally, I am all too aware of the kind of love you give and what you withhold. I know the type of loyalty and protection you offer and what you withhold. And I feel it every day, the kind of love you give and what you take away.

Oh, how cruel you can be when you want to make a point. I’m bankrupt, and you’re my debt collected. It’s a debt I can’t pay. Yet, when you give your love, I am beyond the sun and the moon, brighter than any star in the sky. What a great fall when you take it all away.

Over the years, we’ve fallen into some old beaten patterns and worn-out routines. I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me, and I’m fine with things being this way.

After all this time, I know what to look for; I can manage this maze well. But still, I’m pretty broken up about it. The fact that this is our life… forever. This game goes on… on. Even when we think it’s over, we just go back to start.

We will never live our lives fully with one another. A little lie. Withholding a little here and there. That one thing we won’t bring up. We will never be all the way with each other. We can’t. We bend. We try, but we can’t give all the way. You can let go, and I won’t either. It’s a tug of war, and we both are burned.

You will hold on to her, and I will fight for them and what little of myself I have left. So we fall apart more, all so they’ll have better. It’s what we do. And I’m broken up about it because she had her chance to improve, but now it is at our expense. Her time has passed. They need us now. I need us always. But you…she owns. Her prisoner you are.

What else can we do but continue as we have been? One foot in front of the other, wearing this road down, catching a passing glance and wishing it was more. Keep praying and washing my tears away in the shower. We will meet exhausted in the sheets, the connection we desire. It’ll be good enough for now. Passions will rise and set fire to the frustrations and sorrows we both have for the moment. But it won’t last or be easier, for that cloud of despair hangs over our heads. It lingers in every aspect of our lives. No matter how we try, we’ll never outrun it.

I’m a natural, my love. I see. I feel. I know. But I can’t always explain. I forgive, but I can’t forget. I log every moment of this life and how it’s twisted me up and given me my greatest joys. It’s a testimony of our life together. Both the good and the bad… I know that’s hard on you. You wish much of it would vanish, but I am writing it pen to paper, saving every moment to reread. The madness of a writer. I’m sure you’re broken up about it. It sets me free.

To you, who wants to hide things under the rug, to bury the past in the sand. I know I make it impossible for you to hide. And this is where I brake you. Forcing you to face the things you would rather ignore altogether. You’re broken up about it because it is uncomfortable, and you don’t know what to do in the place I put you in but hate me for it.

But I love you still. I must say, you have always been able to hide so much better than I do. You are natural at pretending things are fine when they aren’t. That is one area you are much better than me.

The way I catalog our life, my pain, and my complaints. My conversations, thoughts, and therapy makes it hard for you to turn your head and hide. I want accountability. I crave justice, but you want to pretend it never happened and forget. It’s oil and water. We’re broken up about it, but we keep going, day by day, not happy but not completely unhappy. We just move through life like we have to to survive.

Like two broken people do.



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