I often wonder if suppression is not my bailiwick.
I hate the vague, I hate the words that hide that feeling you simply cannot find the word to describe. Find the damn words.
Don’t drift off into meditation damn it, get a dictionary, a thesaurus, pay for the subscription to the Oxford English Dictionary and sort it from the 19th century on down. Surprise me.
Please. I won’t beg, I swear I will walk away. Of course that means I’ve already walked away. Here I stand out in the middle of Lake Michigan, realizing that it doesn’t bother me to walk on water.
No I’m no Saint, I have faith and that’s all it takes.
I have faith that I can live without you and your lack of vocabulary and your lack of effort. I can live better without, than sitting here with you in doubt.
You look beautiful by the way, the way your hair catches the sunset and the steady breathing you maintain in the middle of this muddle. I love the sheen of your day old beard and I love the thought of you carefully shaving it all away. Yes, I too can love. Yes, I too can push it away.
Not everyone is able to grab the right word, not everyone can understand the effort, not everyone can stand the cold dunk of water that searching for meaning takes.
I’m not for everyone, isn’t that amazing.
I’m not for anyone, I understand.
Guess I’ll walk north to Lake Superior and stay.
There is an island up there, nice sized that boarders on Canada and sports still the stars and bars. Have no idea why. Maybe I’ll give it a try.
I’m not much for crowds and I’m certainly not much for love. I feel you dissolve before I can mourn the loss. Was that encounter just now or one hundred years ago?
I long for the northern wind who whistles down with no mercy to meet me. I have shunned him more than once asking for a reprieve; his love is too demanding, he exposes me. Think of yourself totally naked, no lust, no love but up for examination. His critical eye assessing, measuring my age, my height, my skin. Curl under. Go ahead and curl under and the northern wind will thunder. So I stand straight and feel my skin tighten and my breast squeeze painfully in the freeze and I am humiliated. That’s loving the north, that’s loving the north wind.
What else can I do? I too can love and I become too demanding. (Find the word but you won’t will you) I too can love but you won’t allow it – this must be a one sided thing with me grateful and you always fulfilling. We could have it the way you want it my egotistical despair, if you could just find your heart in all the preparations you’ve made to love me.
No I am not rejecting you – this is an escape.
Lydia Ink / This is an Escape by SK Woodiwiss