About three years ago I wrote this.

Poststructural Pub
1

“If anyone likes me, it’s just that they don’t know me”
Is what I always thought.
Because I had no confidence,
I much approval sought.

I struggled and I toiled within,
My thoughts and feelings hid.
My mind and soul were something like
A kettle with a lid.

A lid to keep the steam inside,
A lid to hide within,
A place to boil and fall apart,
Apart from friends and kin.

I closed my eyes at mirrors.
I still do that today.
It’s not because I’m ugly,
But to keep myself away.

I had no hate for others;
I’d kept it for myself.
With no access to emotions:
They were up high on a shelf.

I’d never climb a ladder,
Or scale the shelf alone,
But no one else could help me,
As I was on my own.

I told myself, “It’s useless,
There’s nothing you can do.”
And so I fell into a state
Like over-boiled beef stew.

Like over-boilt beef stew I was,
And none could touch my soul;
For I was just a bowl of mush,
Lukewarm within a bowl.

2

I can relate. But, and now…?

3

I’m more like a stale bag of granola, myself.

4

very special Walden

I am more the wild animal running in the forest fire, with foam and blood froth on my face and a gentle eye within my heart

5

I’m an old work horse, hooked to the plow,leanin’ into the collar, ploddin’ on and on…

6

I like your poem. I spent a lot of my life with very similar feelings.

Shannon brought a lot of balance into my life. Returning to music, though it was very painful, brought yet more.

Now, I am become a dichotomy: people have one impression of me on first sight, but sometimes, if circumstances are right, it gets revised a bit.

I am content.

–James

7

I liked your poem too, Walden, but I am wondering what the sequel to it is…if there is one.

I have no idea what I am…I’m so passionate and dramatic, I must have been an actress or something similar in another life. :wink:

8

No, your majesty, you are her royal highness, Izzarina.

9

:smiley: :thumbsup:

10

Yes..that would explain it :laughing:

11

Nice one, Walden.

“Mirrors and fatherhood are abominations, because they multiply the number of things.” Jorge Luis Borges.
“Friends are people who like you even though they know you” - dunno who, but I treasure that one.