Sometimes words slip out in a stream of consciousness, and suddenly, I'm looking back at the woman I once was, waiting for my man to come home ... waiting for the unexpected gift ... waiting for a spark of understanding ... waiting with arms outstretched ... always waiting ... and waiting never made it come ... Now I am the Lady in Waiting for the Knight who will never again return Home!
A lake of soulness, a place of sadness and space
where I feel alone ... afraid ... unsure ...
and more than anything, not knowing suddenly
which way to turn.
What do I say
to make the pain go away?
How to act
to retract
the tears that pour through all the years
pooling in the lake of sorrow
from yesterday, today, tomorrow,
where that sense of grief prevails
as if I've lost something precious,
something special
which was there ...
but now is gone.
Right now, everything feels like quicksand,
the place on which I stand
suddenly uncertain.
I need to determine
who I am, what I'm doing, where I go.
The same old questions
slipping through Time,
pooling in this place
of sadness and tears.
I'm a lost and frightened child
because I see things different.
Is that so wrong?
Why should it matter?
Why does he care?
It's what makes up Me -
the Me he has to come see and know.
But then, right now, it's not enough.
I have to be tough ...
But I'm just not like that at all!
I cry ... I know why.
And it isn't what He thinks!
It isn't just caught up
in machines I don't understand.
There's so much more,
while at the core
what I really need is Love.
Hugs and cuddles,
gentle words,
smiles, and ...
Love.
I feel things deeply,
Is that wrong?
Stress makes my head hurt,
my heart ache.
But instead of a good shake
and shout,
I cry instead with yearning;
with aching, gnawing need
and the plea
to simply feel accepted
Just the Way I Am.
For that to be enough.
He's there immediate with the phone.
Does he get frustrated and shout,
raising his voice at another
when they don't understand
what he's talking about?
It must just be Me.
I'm not enough, for sure,
while others vie for his attention
more and more and more.
He's there for them.
So what's the point?
I'm supposed to accept the way it is,
alone through the week
while he's away working
and with people, yes, yes;
those who understand and know
without him having to show
them how to be, what to see,
telling them to recognise the truths,
the facts, the techie moves.
I write ... rubbish!
I paint ... so what's special about that?
I play, I see things in an unusual way.
So what?
You're not an idiot, he says,
but why can't you understand
the way I do?
Why can't you see and tell
and do
the way I am?
Keep to the Plan!
What Plan?
I've already said!
How many times does it take!!
What do you do ...
when all I want to hear is:
I love you
xx
copyright: Janine Harrington, 2015
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