Why alone continues to feel so good,
That another mind after a day of souls is too much,
Feels like the prison I venture to 4x a week.
I cannot feel bothered again,
When the phone rings, I cringe.
I do not know peace but for only when my body screams,
When I cannot catch my breath,
Or cannot sleep on my aching shoulder any longer.
Otherwise, I am another’s ‘gift’.
My moth, she said that so often,
“You are my greatest gift.”
The responsibility to constantly be worthy,
To be treasured,
It is so hard wired that to be me is to be the ‘best’.
And when I am not,
I am the best at being hated.
The middle ground is a tight rope over a skilled nursing facility full of my Ex’s.
Oh how easy alone is.
I can see me for all my mess and growth,
My destruction and unfinishedness.
And the plants all grow wildly here.
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