No marriage, no children, and no smoking allowed,
Nor tears, nor emotion. Compassion not aroused.
Destruction. Diminished. Depression yet again.
Another wrong choice from the multitudes of men.
No stability of place, of space, or of time,
And no certainty now, for this future of mine.
Little trust, none left: just heartache, sadness and pain.
A soul now bereft; and alas, with minor gain.
Not important, you thought: my hopes, my needs, my quests,
My beliefs, my therapy, let alone the rest.
All this and my work, you frequently undermined;
Attacking my being, not knowing it’s entwined.
No problems really shared;
Few desires even paired;
No softness in bed, only backs to each other.
Another night fighting my supposed Lover.
Pressure for me to be
Someone other than me,
With no celebration
Of my incarnation.
No respect, I suspect, for even your own self;
what about your own health?
A Diet of Convenience, your marriage the same;
And you really wonder why you sit with such pain?
Blackened thoughts of my sister, you shouted into the street:
Damn, and be damned, as I walked that particular beat.
You knew too little to remotely understand.
Yet you pushed: I was bloody. And You? Underhand!
I was hurt. I was angry. Everything had changed:
Our relations were far worse than just being strained;
No more the truth uttered even in passing;
Is absolutely nothing, ever, lasting?
Perhaps I am sorry, for my role, for my part,
For the wound I might have now cut into your heart?
But it’s time to admit to the final defeat:
I will no longer walk to your Conditional Beat.
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