Sometimes, It Feels the Opposite of Open

Closed

my love is a back porch,

cozy, quaint,

but easily forgotten….

except, of course, when you’re there

there’s this

hell of a view, hell when viewed by

eyes that often only want to remember

good times

swinging

sunsets and whispers,

nights counting stars

against the songs of crickets chirping,

but eventually

all the music stops

all that’s left is

spider webs

wheezing

overgrown collection of

clutter, accumulation

from stuff for which there is

no room inside

dust layers broken floor boards

reminders that steps must be taken

gently, or you fall through the cracks

and the screen door

only opens in reverse

[End Poem]

As this poem describes, sometimes I feel like I love "wrong", like I misread the directions or am using an unauthorized copy.  Hopefully coming to terms with this is the first step to correcting the problems.

Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet