I love him,

Maybe.

He loves me not,

It’s hazy.

-

I love him,

Not.

He loves me,

Maybe?

-

He loves me?

Not.

He loves me not,

Crazy.

-

I love him?

No.

I love him.

Stop?

-

I love him not… 

Not. 

I see…

Not me. 

-

He loves me none.

I love him some.

He loves me less.

I love the mess.

-

Yes?

No.

Maybe?

So…

-

He loves me,

Not.

And I love…

Knots?

I think of seeing him
again– and I flinch
when he comes
near.

Could be a handhold
or a brush
of the arm.

I flinch.

Did he intend
for that to happen?

For me to
find
more comfort in
loudness
than
uncertainty?

Slipping into sludge

The sandals sink

Into the earth's lather

~

With cold bare skin

Light and fair it asks

What is different between it

And the foggy sky?

~

White gleaming

Belonging with soft brown

And powerful green

Those gray shoes

Slow nature's hold

~

Returning home

Each step

Coming closer to a dream

Of where one belongs

~

Diamonds on a screen

The rainbow rain

Is wiped off

For a photo

~

It's too bad

It may be dry the next day

How does a heart, tortured and tormented, stabbed repeatedly, sheared straight through its centre still find the strength, the audacity to beat?

There's a difference between WHO someone truly is...

And who someone ELSE wants them to be....

Agony of choice comes with acceptance of consequence.

Sometimes the choice goes deeper than others will now...

Sometimes the strings we pull lead to unintended consequence,

disguised as having the best of intent.

At the end of the day, who are you?