Confusion

So, she said, she wants a poem.
Words written to atone for my lack of romanticism,
Emotions expressed,
Read from the soul to assuage feelings of doubt that lie within.

My beloved, I think in anguish,
How can I heat up a dish which I feel is best served cold?
Or at least to be served with speed needs to endure this.
Don't fool lust with that of romance, or choose passion over trust.

To write of smooth skin,
Painted nails,
Savouring smells of seduction,
Breasts rising up heavy,
Lust - all consuming, seemingly passionate - lust,
Sweat enshrined bodies of faith,
Furrow-laden brows,
Panting heavy in the humid air,
Clenching my throat with gravelly falseness.

To love like you need to be loved, can only lead to the breaking of my defences.
Rising up of yourself to the role of Arch-angel,
Purveyor of inner faith,
To be destroyed on the stalwart defences of reality, as where we stand.
My love gets bound up by its self-imposed boundaries,
Construed to protect from the biting truth of duality.

Years have passed since I saw you last,
Standing on the shit strewn sidewalk,
Disc in hand,
You walked and turned twice,
Thrice perhaps.
I remember the smell in the air and melancholic motion.
A full stop came down on a passage in my life and I stepped forth, Fearful to walk onwards I had to go,
As I had to come back again.
The path lain out in front of me begged to be walked, with arrogance in full support I took it.
With battles won, wars rage on,
Constantly pummelling my resistance,
Questioning my faith, in all and everyone.
My sentiment outstanding,
An emotional child, inner critique of everything,
Dissecting every motion, I destroyed myself.

To ask for love and romance,
Is to ask for that which I know not how to give myself.
When I question why a leaf floats down in front of me,
On a sunny day,
As a cool breeze flows across my face,
Bringing freshly baked scents of bread to my nose.
How can I hope to know that which is bound by words alone?

Sensory depletion,
Overload.
A static, buzzing, chorus of emotions,
Stepping forth rational,
Making logical steps,
Thwarted somewhat by my own self-construed madness.

Many years I've searched for an answer within.
Apathy shines strongest.
A feeling, that what is, has come before,
And is now, like was then,
And will be back again,
In multiple equations of glory and doubt.

With age I realise what I despise.
The control of emotions,
And how they leer around,
Surrounding me,
Spitting venomous thoughts of doubt.
Romance to me falls into this category,
Looming up like a delightful dream,
It seems of security and unrequited trust.
Two brought together as one.

To live.

Breathe.

Have fun.

Spawn an offspring, perhaps?

Or a fuel, to the ever present, questioning lawn of emotionality.
Constantly dry,
Yellowing,
Screaming for unremitting watering,
Built on a sub-soil that is permeable,
Seeping it into the sand.
Underneath?
Alas, no polyethylene screen of protection has been placed on my laudable fields of insecurity

With this I feel that it takes time,
The giver of reality, that is ever present on the field of creation,
To build and make secure, the foundations upon which love lies.
Never questioning, all knowing, unconditional love.

Emotions?
Romance resonates tinnnily within me,
Feeding fears of abandonment,
Repetition of a cycle in full swing.
I baulk at the consequence of my actions,
What could be,
Where I am led to stand,
I feel fear of fear itself rise up and squeeze that which makes me strong.

So why stay?

Why give a piece of you to me?

All I can say is what I see,
And observe of my own ways and how I flow.
I am here again I know,
I listen and don't judge: though it may seem so.
Mistakes I have seen you make and expect you to,
Failing ever so often,
Questioning your own decisions without petulance or disdain of the opinions from others.
Unresolved faith in yourself.
Sometimes you act and unwittingly cause a pain upon me,
For this I love you more.
Frailties mistakes show,
Careening you further downwards to the depths of humanity.
With each word softly spoken (not meant to be analysed or construed with others),
I forge my own strength from your fires.

Many times have gone before,
Figures of authority reigned down upon me,
Delivering their superfluous insights into reality and how I should behave.
In this lies the root of all my rage,
Not problems, just rage.
My self destructive idiosyncracies,
Programmed by the crudest of programmers,
Those who could not even switch on a TV for fear of what may lie inside,
Or what truths it could dare to reveal.
Many times of negativity,
Told to be wrong,
You are wrong.
Never right.

The point of all this though is that in this light you make me happy.

Words of positivity,
Trust in faith and these things,
I hope you will wait until I find out who I am and why I love you so.