Freud, you didn't get it half-right

Sometimes you want a man
Who gives you what
Your father didn't want

Sometimes you want
To be your father
And attract a man like your mother

Sometimes  you run away
From everything  that smells
Of your father

And only a few times
Do you want a man
That looks, talks and acts
Like  your father 

(Of course,
Sometimes that's what you want
All along
And you deny it  to yourself 
Because you don't know it.
But this is just one of a million
Probable phenomena,
Making up a miniscule part
Of a possible range)

What you did get right
Was that
Everything revolves around your father,
Whether you lean towards the type,
Or away from it,
He is the central 'type' in your life

(But even then,
Only if he is
The primary man in your life-
Sometimes it may be a brother,
A friend, a no-relation)

And made you explode

The day you asked
About my feelings  for  you

I thought of how
If i was dead 
The one person  i would
Plead with god
To let me see for a minute 
Was you

And as usual,
Blurted something
Noncommittal 

Ways of seeking sympathy

You can seek
Only sad, vulnerable  people
To share your sorrows with.
Sympathy guaranteed 

Or you can
Go out of your way 
To tell everyone
That you are  strong
And don't  need sympathy. 
And sulk when someone else
Gets the sympathy
That you think you deserve

Or you can create 
Your own defense mechanisms
Joke, laugh, play pranks
And when you find someone
Who seems actually interested
Pour it all out
Hoping against logic
That you are special.
And rub people  the wrong way

Or you can go all mysterious
Never  actually saying out loud
What ails you
Only dropping  hints
Here and there
Hoping for someone 
Who cares enough 
To follow the breadcrumbs 
Back to you.
And wait forever.

not easy to communicate with someone

when you know they are not
what they believe they are

when they are lying to themselves
and you find yourself
looking for scraps
to help them cover
for themselves

Love is not just

Sharing your  low points
Without shame
But also sharing
Your high ones
Without worrying 
That you appear  vain

You alter

Not  just  my days
But entire sequences  of memories 

Treaaured mrmories of
The happiest  time of my life
The cosiest 
The most exciting 
Now i will have to
Re-order them all

Testing the limits

Once i drank
To test my limits
When will i puke?
When will i say things
I never meant to?
When will i embarass  myself?
When will i lose sense?
When will i stop?

And then i drank
To test  yours
When will you turn  away 
When will you ask me to stop ?
When will you be
more embarassed  than me?
When will  you  give up?

With you my feelings

Penetrate
Like knife  through  butter 

My men don't read

Lucky am i that my (wo)men
Don't read my poems

So i can write what i want
They will never see each other
In my poems

More importantly,
They will not see themselves 
(Or lack thereof)

Fuzzy logic needed

If i was married
I could allow myself to cheat

Because  a marriage has no escapes
So i am allowed to build one
To suit my desperation

A cornered cat
Will come for your eyes

But like all things reality
I have no such convenient situation

Instead, a world of greys on one side
And on and offs on the other

I cannot live without you

And yet  i know
Thst when you are gone
I will be relieved 

I fell in love with you

The day we whispered  in broad daylight 
(And we were not  even discussing  secrets
We were just  too scared of spilling  over
Our  act of normalcy )

Not meant to be

You want  stability 
You want  eternity 
And  all i can  offer  you
Is a little tiny piece of 
Ephemerity

I measure every pain i meet

IWith analytic eyes.

What did they do to solve it?

Did they  try everything  in their means?
If not, they must be lazy

Did they stand up to the people who hurt them ?
If not, they must be weak

Can  they pretend they are ok
When  their emotions threaten to spill over
Into other people's  lives?
If not, they must be inconsiderate.

Some grudging respect is spared
For one  who meets all of these conditions
And loopholes are sought of those
Who ace the conditions with their strength

All in an effort
To prove to myself
That i am stronger
Than my adversities
Than them.

(Emily dickinson)

Grief is a source of smugness

Reading Emily  dickinson
And being unable to think  beyond her words 

When you get me something

That you think i like
We end up with something
That neither of us want

The secret pride of grief

I only respect those
Whose grief is greater than mine

For the rest  of them
It's easy to say
They know  nothing

What makes me wise 
In my own eyes
Is my grief

But it hurt too much

I wanted to be strong
I wanted to do the right thing
I wanted to set you free, as you asked