deepundergroundpoetry.com
Some people should come with a warning label…
Over the years, I lost count of how many relationships I sabotaged because my heart & mind was occupied by you, and the carnage is still palpable as I cradle the grief & loss of never holding you whilst clinging to the words that bound us together as if they were a life raft as we navigated the uncharted seas within one another.
You can’t possibly fathom the situation unless you’ve tasted the depth of such a love, and lived with the ache of never quite being able to nourish it until it blossoms into something even more beautiful.
Our love was akin to an abortion, and no amount of logic whilst deploying psychoanalytical workflows will ever reconcile the depth of such a loss, when you have no choice but to surrender to the realisation of the devastation.
Oceans apart, yet so deeply entwined in your imagery, a decade lost in a decade of growth, is a decade worth losing for a half lifetime still yet to live.
You’ve always been medicinal to my internal fracturing, not by design but rather by default, yet the grief & loss holds my heart to ransom as I learn to accept that you don’t love me but I always will.
I don’t behave like a petulant fucktard when I don’t get what I want, and that’s what sets me apart from those who can’t appreciate you, even whilst cradling the hurt you dish out.
Her oppositional defiance is nauseating but reminiscent of a child throwing a tantrum, it’s what defines a girl from a woman, and I don’t have daddy issues that underpin my behaviours, unlike those wilting flowers who’re stuck in your hair.
Sorry, not sorry.
How many years have we moved together, from there to here as our thoughts merged intoxicatingly, and still you don’t love me but I always will as we shift with the tides.
To have loved you so deeply, without embracing the grace of your touch as the warmth of your breath trails my flesh, whilst you hot & heavy handedly with the rough of your hands, leaves me gasping for air.
Until the ache that feels so real, draws me back to you as I know you don’t love me but I will always - love you.
And we cherished the way our hearts once danced; soulfully yet intently whilst playing for keeps as you were unable to stay the course, and I’m too old to compete for the affections of any man who’s unable to discern what he needs or wants.
You were my chosen poison, and wine.
Perhaps, we’ll meet to ponder what dreams may have become but was unable to flourish, post crossing the bar.
You can’t possibly fathom the situation unless you’ve tasted the depth of such a love, and lived with the ache of never quite being able to nourish it until it blossoms into something even more beautiful.
Our love was akin to an abortion, and no amount of logic whilst deploying psychoanalytical workflows will ever reconcile the depth of such a loss, when you have no choice but to surrender to the realisation of the devastation.
Oceans apart, yet so deeply entwined in your imagery, a decade lost in a decade of growth, is a decade worth losing for a half lifetime still yet to live.
You’ve always been medicinal to my internal fracturing, not by design but rather by default, yet the grief & loss holds my heart to ransom as I learn to accept that you don’t love me but I always will.
I don’t behave like a petulant fucktard when I don’t get what I want, and that’s what sets me apart from those who can’t appreciate you, even whilst cradling the hurt you dish out.
Her oppositional defiance is nauseating but reminiscent of a child throwing a tantrum, it’s what defines a girl from a woman, and I don’t have daddy issues that underpin my behaviours, unlike those wilting flowers who’re stuck in your hair.
Sorry, not sorry.
How many years have we moved together, from there to here as our thoughts merged intoxicatingly, and still you don’t love me but I always will as we shift with the tides.
To have loved you so deeply, without embracing the grace of your touch as the warmth of your breath trails my flesh, whilst you hot & heavy handedly with the rough of your hands, leaves me gasping for air.
Until the ache that feels so real, draws me back to you as I know you don’t love me but I will always - love you.
And we cherished the way our hearts once danced; soulfully yet intently whilst playing for keeps as you were unable to stay the course, and I’m too old to compete for the affections of any man who’s unable to discern what he needs or wants.
You were my chosen poison, and wine.
Perhaps, we’ll meet to ponder what dreams may have become but was unable to flourish, post crossing the bar.
Published 31st Aug 2021
Author's Note
https://youtu.be/fNlxKH9Jtmc
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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31st Aug 2021 3:56am
Anonymous
31st Aug 2021 4:48am
There's some real nice rhythms in the following lines, as well as the paradoxical nature of imagined-lust experienced:
To have loved you so deeply, without embracing the grace of your touch as the warmth of your breath trails my flesh, whilst you hot & heavy handedly with the rough of your hands, leaves me gasping for air.
Like the reference to an abortion, in part because it was there in the beginning--the beloved is someone the speaker never held.
Like the repetition / refrain at the ends of the paragraphs.
Like the image of women stuck in the hair like flowers.
Don't understand having been in a relationship with this person--for a long time, it seems--but never "never holding" the other? I don't understand it. An epistolary relationship? More than unconsummated, I take this literally--the speaker never touched her beloved.
I'm real interested in the way the psyche imposes a kind of "interface" on opposite-sex people, an interface which is a combination of inheritance from the collective unconscious combined with formative, early-childhood experiences, and that this interface has to be reckoned with on our way to adulting...
To have loved you so deeply, without embracing the grace of your touch as the warmth of your breath trails my flesh, whilst you hot & heavy handedly with the rough of your hands, leaves me gasping for air.
Like the reference to an abortion, in part because it was there in the beginning--the beloved is someone the speaker never held.
Like the repetition / refrain at the ends of the paragraphs.
Like the image of women stuck in the hair like flowers.
Don't understand having been in a relationship with this person--for a long time, it seems--but never "never holding" the other? I don't understand it. An epistolary relationship? More than unconsummated, I take this literally--the speaker never touched her beloved.
I'm real interested in the way the psyche imposes a kind of "interface" on opposite-sex people, an interface which is a combination of inheritance from the collective unconscious combined with formative, early-childhood experiences, and that this interface has to be reckoned with on our way to adulting...
Anonymous
- Edited 9th Apr 2022 5:45am
31st Aug 2021 4:59am
<< post removed >>
31st Aug 2021 5:01am
You are right. But you have to look in the right places to find good people to know. Keep on writing.
31st Aug 2021 6:02am
Those phrases best show the contradictions in this relationship:
'you don't love me but I always will'
'Sorry, not sorry'
and the sad wistfulness of this:
To have loved you so deeply, without embracing the grace of your touch as the warmth of your breath trails my flesh, whilst you hot & heavy handedly with the rough of your hands, leaves me gasping for air.
BTW, going off poem topic - I recall a preview of a 'Panorama' (TV current affairs programme in UK) programme in the 1980s, 'Cervical cancer - and men', when the sexually transmitted nature of the disease was becoming widely known (ironically in the decade of AIDS), a woman telling the presenter: 'Men should have a health warning tattooed on their chest - 'This man could kill you!'
'you don't love me but I always will'
'Sorry, not sorry'
and the sad wistfulness of this:
To have loved you so deeply, without embracing the grace of your touch as the warmth of your breath trails my flesh, whilst you hot & heavy handedly with the rough of your hands, leaves me gasping for air.
BTW, going off poem topic - I recall a preview of a 'Panorama' (TV current affairs programme in UK) programme in the 1980s, 'Cervical cancer - and men', when the sexually transmitted nature of the disease was becoming widely known (ironically in the decade of AIDS), a woman telling the presenter: 'Men should have a health warning tattooed on their chest - 'This man could kill you!'
31st Aug 2021 9:02am
This is raw and emotional. Life can be a hazardous journey and those you entwine with can bring out the best or worst in you.
31st Aug 2021 3:05pm
A most exquisite flow. Rhythm & transitional qualities impeccable.
... The self awareness/self analysis shines.
I pictured this being spoken strait into the ear of a lover...
I have personally experienced Great Love.
Sometime I have thought: if I were to forget you would that render love to be illusion? Soul mate, if I were to lose you, entirely, would that take away the eternal nature of the soul?
I view this write as confirmation of the reality of love and the eternal nature of the soul.
And as painful as that might be, at times, it is also beautiful...
I also wonder if the levels of pain are proportional to the levels of beauty...
A wonderful, thought provoking write.
... The self awareness/self analysis shines.
I pictured this being spoken strait into the ear of a lover...
I have personally experienced Great Love.
Sometime I have thought: if I were to forget you would that render love to be illusion? Soul mate, if I were to lose you, entirely, would that take away the eternal nature of the soul?
I view this write as confirmation of the reality of love and the eternal nature of the soul.
And as painful as that might be, at times, it is also beautiful...
I also wonder if the levels of pain are proportional to the levels of beauty...
A wonderful, thought provoking write.
1st Sep 2021 2:18pm
Wow, straight to the heart; great metaphors and much to think about, Hugs and peace, O)
