Repeating myself — a poem

Once,
You asked me;
‘What’s your biggest annoyance,
What sends you spiralling,
Becoming a version of you that,
Not many,
If any,
See?’

‘Repeating myself’ I said, laughing
Relating it to parenting, professional,
Protracted interactions with
People who didn’t know better.

Until one day,
You stood, stoney still.
Silently, still.
Rigidly, still
And listened to myrequests
Over and over and over again.
Until I stopped.

Oh, I’d become a version, that not many
If any,
See.
Not film-like beautiful,
Not a poetic, hidden valley of
Utopian uniqueness, a gift to the worthy.
No.
A cornered, exasperated animal.
Whining for solace, asking for food,
Nudging your side with my nose
For a sliver of your attention.

A hungry, homeless drifter,
Pushed there, driven there,
A refugee in my wannabe-refuge-relationship.

A version you felt special seeing,
A version I shamefully hated,
While the version of me, that I did
Want to give to you,
Turned inward and
Broke into spirits, intangible wisps
Green and sickly, swirling around my eyes
Knocking on the lenses at you,
Holding out their arms to you,
While you stared through them angrily,
Yelled at me,
And told me I wasn’t open enough
That I didn’t understand ‘this was love’
And ‘why couldn’t I see it?’

‘You need to talk more.’
You advised.
‘Why don’t you stop doing that?’
You accused.
‘You’ll only accept the love you allow’
You said.
‘Does anyone truly know you?’
You’d throw.
‘You don’t know me at all.’
You’d stab.
‘This is all your fault.’
You believed.

Then nothing.
Silence.
Digital white noise.
Gapped, miles-apart.

And I’d repeat.
I’d take all accountability.
Explain I struggled,
That I couldn’t understand
What version of me you valued more,
The animal, refugee or the spirit.

So you eventually received,
A new version — that many
If any,
Saw.

That existed solely in a perspective,
You made fact.
Simply because,
You made it fact.
Wrapped in the cyclone of
Expletives and lectures,
‘You should just trust that I love you.’
Shouted across a room to me,
As I cried,
While every action said otherwise.
And every embrace, rejected.

But a version many,
See
Is holding myself firm against
A hurricane of your words,
And silence.
You words.
And silence.

This version is resolved.
Keeping a pin-prick goal
In the dark-distance

And that pin-prick turned into an island
And that island into a ship
And that ship is pulling me further away
From the storm of you,
Back to me.
To the version that many,
So many,
See.