Proclivity for retention.

Circling everywhere but onward, around we turn in unspecified place but friendship of a kind, if wanted, if not, in choice had I proclaim to pick. He hastens away, I retreat to be reclaimed with echoes of my own stolen on his lips. All and nothing becomes changed. Compacted, unhurried to show who am I to his unexpressed he and what are we inreleased.

Frigid, stuck in attatchment with not intimacy returned...dispirited, discouraged disheartened, left cooling in desire. I can not speak lodged words that will fluster him gone or draw him near. I live fearful in both, holding in that desperately, longingly needs released...I am, soley, sadly constipated in love.

The love I give is mine to keep.

I resent all that you are, all you leave me solitary...all that I am abandoned. In your easiness you create difficulty. In my toil, I am found wanting and worn. You sleep, I walk a path not fit for child nor woman. No more ripping out my heart in kind love for you, no more neglect.

A repeated story, replicated, duplicated until erudite. The chain in my link, my connection to another in parallel likeness, a homecoming bringing back to the start, to the death of my life before begun with a father's single minded hand to be free, a facile life for him, a closing that must be revived to undertake again. The end of his life, an emergence of mine. Fifteen years more since mourning undid, incomplete, stilted in resolute force to break free from dominance, control...the teaching you gave to capitulate, concede for the peace of you I too adored, coveted I give to all. Freedom is, always mine to choose, I reclaim my being, my tenderness, embrace myself complete. No more appealing, no more sanctioning an easy life for you. This hour is achieved, reached in quest of reposeful destination.

The wolf at the door.

Surging want to run, shift course, a get out quick clause long embedded. Uncomfortable closeness rendering weak...vulnerability uncertain of an emerging safe place, its reality, probability. Unused and new, I'm lost for what to do, how to be here, only volitional escape known. Murmurs of stifled breath, heavy weighs the courage to remain, pursuit of proof lost in soaring, unwilling to land. I may be wounded or I may not, what to lose when never loved found is the ground I have walked my life through?

Motherless daughters...a welcoming home.

Did I give enough space for her to grow or did I push her out of my nest so I could fly? My boundaries built too high, too rigid for her to see her path whilst I search for mine. My home, my rules, my time...perhaps why she keeps coming back to have me throw her out again and again, set up to fail of my creation or her self sabotage? She's waiting for the change in me, for my acceptance of her need to be the mess she is, held safe until she can breathe her own air, grow her own feet.

So I still myself, I sit with her giving no direction, asking no...demanding not to know her steps, just with in awkward silence. From darkened depths, I saw a surface she swam me back, a familiar atmosphere where we connect...honest, raw expression of love, hate, laughter, of sheer joy in the family we are where freedom is found at least to speak our truths if not live. In finding my own mother, I found hers. Her home in my heart, my home, my heart wide enough for us both to beat in tune our own unique being. Simplicity in all its complexity, rest is arrived.

In you I found my escape...

....in my escape I found you. You push me forward and in my fowardness, you follow. Inside out I am turned as trust finds the way.

I need no more than this day...

...to feel the rain on my naked burnt body.

May the 14th always be with me.

A favorite day I know not why. My yellow day, a Tuesday...all is aligned to where one day will tell.

"When?" asks the anxious mind..."when you are ready" wisdom replies.

Since I stopped running from how I feel when feeling is too much a burden to bear I've come to know that hard won achievements made can be very short lived in celebration when anxiety leaps ahead as exhaustion hits.

Feeling overwhelmed, panicked in knowing if anything strikes I have no capability to deal and with vulnerability no bravery to ask for help. Beneath a confident when able person lies a frightened child lost in wilderness even the mother I am cannot hold in anything but reassurances echoing in hollow disbelief. If nothing else sitting with my reality may bring I imagine another who can hold me in gentle closeness when I can no longer hang on to myself. A dream I've had so long I can barely breathe in its existence, its fruition without feeling hope sliding into oblivion for wondering how much longer will it be an actuality that has only since been lived as if. The closer love feels the further I have to fall, the further I fall the closer love becomes.

Delaying gratification.

Never have I observed necessary a need to delay which gave rapture amongst the instability and mania, my given life...an inexorable exit if in that fracture more the same I found. The ride never ending, round I journeyed, nauseated, ready to step silently aside, hide wounds, harden scars ready for the next folly to cross my way. This time...this time I recognise value, the inevitable requirement to stop, wait and see. Patience arriving the way of certitude, embrace, an arduous task leaves me trembling with anticipation and fret, oh, such fear no stranger to me, a companionless constant I wonder if lost would I also be. To know life in peace, tranquillity what loss of fire, burden to shed, find of derived growth only gained from pain, angst if willing to onward venture, unstuck in perpetuity.

Walking in your shoes...

...you are right, like the harbinger of doom, your grey to my yellow days, we have to stop.

A Dream Within a Dream Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 - 1849

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow: You are not wrong who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand-- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep--while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?

When the bough breaks.

A simpler life of carnal pleasure elusively desired yet feared. Not reality, no workaday fret to be revered. Fall with confounded lust then snapped back to less the merry-go-round again. The stuff in and of life, the meat and potatoes, molecular force not grounded but forged into the shape of man. When woman awakens and excites do not run scared, lovers, she is reaching within a soul, a natural selection, a mate with whom to lay, to openly ignite. Passion in clothing stripped is no more seductive than breath caught on the winged bird, the wind in the leaves and rustle between sheets of wealth. All is lust when the heart is full. All is right in the words you heard.

Britain’s countryside is dominated by bullies – as Chris Packham has found ~ George Monbiot.

George Monbiot cuts through the silage to the heart of what's going on...these 'landowners' should be re-termed as land thieves as theft is how they came by this excess of common land to begin with via their ancestors who they then inherited, and as Monbiot states, we are paying a subsidy without any right to not only access that land but a say in how that land and species that inhabit is treated which effects us all. Anyone not in cahoots with them who claim it's their land to do with what they will are missing this salient picture of destruction and abuse...and people aspire to these immature killers of life?!?! Jealous of such superficial pomp, not a jot, angry at the injustice, damn right I am. They have no more right than anyone to destroy the freedom of any species to live a natural life but they get away with doing so because most are too scared or disinterested to take them on. Thankfully, there are the likes of Packham and Monbiot in the public gaze who are not. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/may/01/britain-countryside-bullies-chris-packham?fbclid=IwAR0Acb-v1w1_EVwIzpJ1oDHGqwoqgm8bCv9MLN6yhrDIXds_az0KSWAOnqw

This day glorious

I spoke my tale and told it well, I hasten to say. Rarely if at all do I speak of this faithless illness and my life of strife with anyone other than close friends and family but this morning I spoke in confidence and with clarity...took me aback to have been so forthcoming with a friend I've been quite mysterious but needs must and the time was rife to pack all illusions and fantasies away. And the listener heard and understood, understood my life's battle as I described in tormented detail how I got where I am today with no hint of pity, I hope shared strength, determination and resolve to make a better life, always to make a better life no matter what befalls shone through his dimmed but warming light.

I spoke my aims to return a healthier lifestyle I was robbed through extraordinary curse, to hold dear a friend I value with or without beleaguered benefits and learned his conflicted nature. No longer confused, no more angst, just freedom to be me, him to be he. Today I celebrate having unsuspectingly taken the path presented and led one month less of a year ago. Slow and steady may win the fabled race but this hared hare got to the place of assured rest first. Sometimes we follow what feels right even if we don't know why only for all to make sense at the precipice, at the point of stepping off...ready for a path scattered with sweet saviour, my path strayed and lost to another's and another's until finally found. I am, at last, my darlings, homeward bound.