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PLAGUED
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LYNN My mind thinks so far ahead
Yet, trails so far behind
All these events in my life
Make my thinking, a whirlwind of chaotic strife.
I think about how my ex can find virtue in being a lady,
But write curse words in her poetry for no point at all.
I think about how she said she'd serve her country
Gladly...all over, again and again.
I wonder, even if it meant being raped all over again?
I think about her saying she has a PHD at a school,
She has said it to several people,
Yet, there is no certificate, no record of public information
At the institution involved.
I don't see it,
What is the reward in claiming something you are not.
What is the idea in doing something most would avoid:
Just so they could keep
Their childhood innocense?
Why is all this important to her,
When her mother and even I love her for who she is.
And the sad part, is my ex will never know the her we see.
She will never stop the plague that rages in her to be...
GOOD ENOUGH, by her own standards.
I am plagued by these thoughts,
She is plagued by her life.
I am plagued, on if I'll ever be able to trust.
She is plagued by lying to her very family members.
But most of all,
I am plagued by thoughts.
Her father died some years ago,
Mine died Father's Day.
My ex, obviously,
Is unable to consider being civil in any form,
Offers me absolutely no condolences...
When I know that her mother has already told her.
It is a sad life she leads,
It is a sad life I try to figure out,
Hers and mine, how we intertwined,
Found ourselves in a place no better than where we were,
And probably in a place far worse than where we started.
The experience,
Profound.
The drought, famine, and plague has landed at our door...
The guessing continues...
And we both starve for answers that will never come...
Resolution that will not change the hurt left behind,
Because too much destruction happened.
Resolution is a bitter pill.
It doesn't always come in answers we can hear or understand.
The offerings often make no sense to us at all.
The apologies, are too little too late.
The only thing one can say is...
"I wished it could have been different."
No more, no less, it is what it was, and cannot change.
Often my mind is plagued,
"I lived through all this FOR WHAT?"
The expression,
"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger."
I hate it.
With each broken heart,
A piece of me hardens.
The lighter side in me, calluses,
Wanting nothing of romance or sending cards.
And flowers just die.
I am plagued by hating reality,
The brutality of it,
That eats away the best creative parts of my being...
Simply because, I cannot survive another attack,
Another plague,
Of questions asking why, and unresolved issues,
And a relationship that never quite makes sense...
At least in the long run.
I cannot handle another time, of seeing the sun,
Revealing the future in all it's
GLORY,
Only to see it crucified in the darkness of night,
When the theif takes the vision of a better life away.
It is all too much,
Plagued.
