When I listen to you

gossip-monger, September 2008, Orlando, FL
When I listen to You
I don't hear Her...
Voices telling me
(in words I've never heard before):
Things I've suspected,
Never knew,
Don't want to believe...
Never believed.
Your words resonate,
Sound those harmonies,
Those sympathetic vibrations
Deep within me.
Her disparaging judgment of me
Sits numbly in my soul--
This benign tumor neither
Growing, shrinking, or leaving.
Her close (convenient) friend
Blocking refuge's door:
"She doesn't want to talk
To you." But--
"I'll talk to him," She said;
A limited engagement.
What did She say?
To Her friends?
To too many?
How could this man,
So wanting conversation,
Communication, some
Shred of mutual effort 
To maintain a marriage,
Find himself wedded to 
Her non-talking cold
Judgment, spitting out
Her assessment:
Verbal Abuser?
When I listen to You
I can't see Verbal Abuser.
You paint me differently:
Partner. Spouse.
I see this. I think,
Maybe, this Her,
Might have erred.

6 thoughts on “When I listen to you

  1. I agree, it is a raw piece. Perhaps to see ourselves by reflection in others is difficult. I’ve found the techniques of Buddhist meditation to be a great help through difficult times, to know who I am, and where the “instant” feelings really arise from.

    1. Thanks for stopping by, Steve. My meditation has been a spurty (sic), infrequent thing. One of my beliefs involves owning the darkness. A different post I think. To not live within the raw honesty of who we are/were is to negate bits of being.

    2. But that is not exactly your point, now was it? Buddhism accepts the emotional storm while recognizing it as part of the illusion. I’m more Zorba-the-Buddha: validate these feelings, illusory or not. They’ve built the persona that sits at this keyboard.

      1. I don’t really have a point, this is how it was for me. When I did meditation seriously, after a while it helped me, not just through being aware of (and not rejecting) thought/feeling bubbles rising in the mind sea, but because it seeped into my life, gave me a breath, a pause between thought and action to contemplate whether the driver was an inappropriate leftover on repeat from my childhood.

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