one day in the future they will come up with little pills and little bottles

to ‘cure’ this illness when it is not

even tangible

but something made of fibers

unseen to the eye

that set you off galloping

one day you sit quiet and rested in the sun

and just a little thing can start it all

the discrepancy of something said

the feeling of being on the outside looking in

a lie you cannot call someone out for

because they have more lies than you’ll ever

have room for

so you turn

without even thinking

second nature

and run in the opposite direction

shut down close off

never give them a second thought

it is the protection of the flower

who must open daily

and close when it is dark

she can be so sudden in her dismissal

it’s what she knows best of all

that feeling of nothing

that familiarity of naught

and if it happens they’ll eventually

call it an illness

but it’s no more sick than

stones who adapt to water

by becoming


to move

if I happen to

switch off and stop

I won’t be coming back

and it’s only the ones who

claim the deepest of my heart

whom I cannot stand to reject

who stay with me til the end

burrowed in my being

where few can ever find



What was it about you?

let yourself right away in

demolished every rule, every tendency I had

an exception we bow asunder to

feathers gleaming against cold sunlight


23 Replies to “Pushing away”

  1. The hardware store has no glue to mend broken trust, and the pharmacy no such remedy. The bar tender and the dealer say they do, but they lie.

  2. It’s not pheremores, but a subtle energy that ties her eyes to yours, spell-binding – like writing words on paper comes so naturally …

  3. LOL! Now that you mention it, I suppose it may be one. There’s an interesting concept, accidental poetry. Or, a peculiar effect (affect?) some people seem to have on me.

  4. I’ll be down at the end of the month for a few days, we’ve got to get together!! Miss you too dear heart, I’ll reach out πŸ™πŸ–€

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