I too lay hurting./
I try to explain caring./
Nothing seems to work.

Furnace is blasting./
Lone mourning dove softly coos./
Significance? None.

Sometimes I’m proud of myself.
I can put my desires on the shelf
and listen to what others want
and honor and respect them, for once.

It’s always been hard for me
to resolve to be still completely.
To let others have their way;
To not have to have the last say.

I usually think that I know best
but tonight, I’m trying a little test:
Someone wants to keep me at bay,
so silently aloof is how I’ll stay.

My mind says I know better than they,
but respect for them keeps me away.

Women say “no” oft./
I am learning what that means./
It means don’t do it.

I’m done convincing./
Like trying to capture frost,/
it does little good.

If I don’t still write,/
I am wrong. If I write still,/
am I then still wrong?

Dogs chasing their tails./
Nets thrown at reflected stars./
Attempts at romance.

Stop reading my blog./
Someday, those deep, feeling poems/
won’t be about you.

OR
Stop reading my blog./
Often, past, deep, feeling poems/
aren’t all about you.

Perhaps critics are correct, /
after all./
The human/
emotional experience/
is so similar/
to each/
and all/
of us./

Placing/
my feelings/
on electronic sleeves/
for the world/
to view/
only serves/
doubt./

All read./
All wonder./
All feel./
All are./

And yet,/
the only constant/
is that/
I am.

Fly high with feelings./
Make certain, in joy, you stay/
away from windshields.