The Broken Thing

obiwan

He hides in books and bitterness

Protests against loving attempts

With an ever-present, I’m not ready for This

His hurt is the hand he uses to push Them away

Meanwhile, inside

He craves and craves

A meaningful Love he shoves swiftly away

Has empty encounters that offer brief pleasures

But those kind of pleasures just evaporate

Afterward, so painfully aware

Of exactly What and How Much is not there

He can’t bear demands or needs or wants

Lays it all on the table at once

This won’t be what you want it to be

Don’t think you’re special

Don’t fall for me

Reverse psychology, They think

Except – um, Oops – he says what He means

That’s the Broken Man speaking

He told me the very same thing

The difference is I listen

I know that road is his to go

Maybe he’ll defeat The Thing inside who speaks

On the other hand

Maybe he’ll just listen…

 

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Where She Lives

anima

He dug his hands down into the Soul of things

And came up empty

Awakened, brutally, to the Other Side

Disillusioned, now

Afraid

Bitter like the dry dirt caked up his arms

From the constant digging

She calls to him, Look up, over there!

But he no longer trusts a female voice,

Even one that is not hers

If only he could get out of his own way

She is pointing him to rich soil

A well –

Wet and deep and thriving with Life Force that can sustain him

If only he can bear to try again

(Though he is so sick of trying)

To reach once more

To find what he was always meant to have —

His land.

His land.

Where She lives…