I look for trust.
Yet, I find different hues of an illusion that isn’t realistic to humanity.
I want something warm and soft to fall into.
Something deep with meaning, my own special trilogy.
I can look back on my work and smile.
Completion and devotion welcome me with open arms.
And I find myself at peace.
My warped up brain can finally rest.
No need to find revolution, no need to take blame.
I am free from all that ties my weary mind down in metaphorical shackles and chains.
When I reach the gates of success, I won’t need a lover.
Myself, and my accomplishments alone I can be heavily infatuated with.
If I can hold on to this spark, this glimpse of revelation.
I’ll make it through I know.
The course of life can be a tiresome journey.
Betrayal is a common occurrence, a natural act of routine.
I run from it all, and escape to vibrant greens and blues.
Never ending hues of light and vivid explosions of bliss and contentment.
I’m done dwelling in my puddle of self-destruction and woe.
I’ll evade the evaded, and find something comforting to embellish my exhilaration from.
I’ll come to a conclusion of some sort, define my own ending in various ways and examples of happiness.
I won’t relapse into that time, that time of constant sorrow, where our marrows were so closely inclined to one another.
I’ll burrow my head in the sand for ages, relinquish the thought.
I want to experience love.
Not just physical acts of clumsily teenage amiss of some form of sinful risk.
No, I want the true risk, the true plunge in unconditional commitment and affection.
I draw out a different direction.
I need to find comfort in the past, and alas, forget about what’s been holding me back.
I can find some form of reality, my compulsions transform into pauses.
Think before you do.
How could I ever get hurt again?
Bashful and embarrassed, looking at her won’t make me squeamish.
When I see his memory filled face, I won’t scream, but I’ll chuckle under my breath.
Unnecessary grief, outrageous belief.
Thoughts of being in love?
Ridiculous and injustice.
Lovers will be lovers, but what I want is to uncover my real man's mask.
See what I can unravel, before I unravel myself.
I will find poise, I will find elegance from the leftovers of my being.
I will release all that’s been keeping me from the full extent of true joy.
Allow the curtains to be drawn.
Step out into the bare air.
Feel the stares.
I need to breathe.
Reaching for something that isn’t visible was a waste.
To paste different fragments onto this poorly knitted costume.
A bead there.
A sparkle there.
Will I ever function as human again?
With my new, knitted, skin?
I will relive and become alive again.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
Book / Literary Fiction
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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