Difficult child

My mother told me i was difficult to love. This translated itself into my growing mind in a myriad of ways. One i was certain of was the complete lack of real understanding of what she termed 'difficult'. These thoughts would roll round in my head, arguing and debating ceaselessly over the thousand different permetations of difficult, like rowdy noises in crowded spaces. And perhaps this was the problem- nothing was ever concrete in my mind, not even language or emotions everything was fluid and changeable, if one jsut thought on it for too long. Like when a word is thought of so much the very letters cease to have any meaning and they disintergrate into the absurd.

It took a long while to reconcile myself to having a grasp of what she may have meant. I rushed through everthing so fast, i barely paused to consider or reflect that my maniacal need to for knowledge and discovery of the new may be a troublesome character trait. I was so argumentative and at times irritable with her inabitlity to immediately grasp my meaning or mood. I was often frustrated by others simply for not being able to feel what i felt and feeling incapbable of descibing it due to my mistrust of the concreteness of words to express myself. I was somewhat an arrogant youth who also felt to not feel as i did you could not possibly understand as i did.

I still yearned for some sort of communion with another. And through life have searched and routed for another soul to make me whole, which of course is extremely difficult to love. No one desires for that which longs for itself to be subsumed in another. People yearn for reflected glory but in reality in time it will become burdensome and will quickly tire of the shackles of anothers need of them.

I have also learnt over time that i struggled to feel worthy of the love i yearned for. A dark quarrelsome part of me sits like a malevolent old hag tearing apart any positive situation, negativly picking holes and smudging all to an inky darkness of no clarity. Cumbersome and constant deliberations run from her mouth, all lengthy all stuffy and pointless. And all ending in a world wearied retort 'i told you this was a fools errand'

But the other half of thatfateful phrase of my mothers puzzles me when my mind flips it over like a pebble on a river bed. Who truly loves simplicity? Difficultness is the lot of humanity. We have been born to labour through many things till death, to survive is wedded to our bones. Is love not meant to be a struggle? A battleground of hurt and disspointment. Do we not love the troublesome ones more because of the effort put in. Like a man feels pride in eating the crust he earnt by the sweat of his brow?

Am i difficult to love or is it just difficult to love?

Tonight

Tonight

Tonight i will go without the touch of your skin, or the taste of you in my mouth. I won’t feel the grate of your teeth on my cheek; you bite me so hard sometimes like Plath did to Ted Hughes-and i am reminded of the savagery of lust.

I won’t have cajoling hands pulling me closer, pressing my hips up against your desire and you will not have my hot hungry mouth with it’s desire to devour you.

I am afraid of this feral lust- too want this badly is dangerous…