"Somewhere deep in his shell there's an ember of pride..." - Linda Creed
In some weird way she was trying to speak to me,
like some chick-a-dee or end-of-summer cricket,
the reasons why she could no longer love me,
the things that some imagined me had done.
It came across a vast impossible chasm,
I almost heard the voice of that other me,
but it was soon drowned out by more complaining
and requests to hear her out like a gentle breeze.
I guess some honesty had broke the seal
and sent her into post-traumatic stress,
some pushing back at responsibility for her happiness
from some semblance of a self that's locked inside.
I try to, one more time, express my feelings,
and it's cancelled on procedural grounds again,
that's one of my biggest problems, she says, I never listen,
I need to hear her pain each time it comes.
Amazing how oblivious I can be
when giving love and showing vulnerability
to a closed-off heart and a shut-down mind
and irreconcilable animosity.
I hide behind her smile in public view,
and flash the thumbs-up sign to everyone.
I come home from the people I've inspired
to find an undone list of things to do
and I, perpetual fool, don't question it,
as if I need to prove my love is true,
when it's only giving someone what they want
and thinking that's exactly what I need,
to give without expectation, to love
without constraint, but it always comes again,
it's how I'm doing it, no gentleness
can soothe a charging heart full of herself.
