Frustrations have been beckoning at my door. The floating, negative energy swirls full in my belly, it calls for something else to prey on, catcalling, cruelly, some more.
Am I not enough for its appetite? Does this feeling need to engulf every part of me, washing me, wading through me, the feeling that I have never desired to seek?
But then, I take a step back. I stop pursuing that which is causing me to feel… less, useless, even though the feeling, causation, is unintended at that.
I am feeling managed, time-poor by choice, that behaviour does not suit me, I cannot help how I’m feeling, but it’s somewhat unappreciated.
There may be recoil from my words, there may be consequences, but I must speak my emotions, let them loose, I’m no longer crying them aloud,
I simply want an acknowledgement and changed behaviour, that which shows a permanent change of tune.
I’m like a brightly blazing deciduous tree except I will not weep for
you. Because while my colours alternate from light greens to crisp fawns and
crunchy dryness as the seasons go from bright to dark, days longer to short, at
this moment I’m far less tolerant, adaptive I am not.
Release not the inner emotions, the angst which we both feel. The grinding of stone upon pavement, the scratchy itching frustration I feel. The knowledge that I am absorbing a melody that I do not wish to be performed through me, and the strangeness and wearing down of my barely-present tolerance is surprisingly unyielding. I feel rather affected, and most certainly quite ill at ease.
I’d much rather be alone in these moments, and cast off my unwanted and
unfeeling leaves in silence. They are not necessary. And neither is this irritation
which is featuring heavily in this ongoing dramatic story.
There’s a brief pause now, an interlude, to allow anger and the stifling feeling of unrest to build into an explosive level of intent and mistrust. Because, neither of us seems to want to admit wrongdoing, or take responsibility, or be willing to say we’re sorry. We’d rather war with our displeased silences than allow ourselves to become defeated and at a loss.
But instead we’ll confide in one another, especially with you sharing how you truly feel. Your frustrations, your sufferings, your immense irritation; your desire for me to wholeheartedly acknowledge your communications about how you feel. It is not all about me, it is due to the surrounding world which surrounds your considered yet busy, ever-changing bubble; you voice, you vent, you scream, then you’re seemingly spent. We now link hands, and forehead to pressed forehead we gaze into one another, our eyes calming the other, the viewing of our aching souls entwined together.
You wrap your arms around your now-caring and almost-barren tree, as the last leaves from my limbs fall with gentle ease. Winter is upon us, allow each to warm the other with a manner of understanding and openness to be felt and seen. For, our hearts are fiery in the heat in which they deliver and the clipped words and admonishments are lost in the airy but biting winter’s breath — this argument seems like the end of an unwanted era. Allow us to communicate more effectively, to prove true calming consideration at its best.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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