The Broken

When you,
And strangers come together,
And live,
Even temporarily,
You begin to understand,
That there are many broken people:
Couples,
Where one has lost their way.
And can't settle.
A cosmopolitan family,
Who cannot locate their home.
A man who has discovered his childhood sweetheart,
No longer is,
After fifty years.
And the one who must find herself,
In the approval of  others.
Fills the gap with strangers she meets in cyberspace,
Trusting no one.

Generational Disappointment

It seems I belong to a family,
Who suffers a terrible inheritance.
For some of us it is genetic.
For others,
Environmental.
It is born of unmet expectations,
Insecurities,
Insincerity,
But mostly,
A clash of cultures.

The objective but confused culture of the Aspergian.
Diagnosed or not.
Versus those more emotionally volatile neurotypicals,
Who attempt to love us.
The result,
Is much like its cousin,
'Generational Poverty',
Which is similarly, a cultural construct.
'Generational Disappointment' is a deficit,
Affecting the soul,
Rather than the wallet.

Circumstance

Circumstance,
Somehow the stars had not formed that fortuitous constellation.
Trust was put into those jaded by disapointment.
So it did not happen.

It was not down to anything lacking,
In personality,
Other physical attributes,
Or qualities of character.
It was not that they were somehow,
Not deserving,
Or not tried hard enough.

It was merely a matter of chance,
That they had not had the opportunity,
To open themselves completely to that one person,
And have it reciprocated.

The Casual Affair

Why is it,
He cannot allow himself to love her?
To give his whole self,
Openly and honestly.

Yet he longs for her caress,
Her lithe body against his,
And her voice in his ear,
Soft and low.

She will give,
And give, to her very soul,
Yet he does not trust.
He is honest when he tells her,
That he cannot commit,
But she hopes he is lying.

For fear that he will be hurt,
He holds back,
And hurts them both.

Holding on

The trust has been dented.
And now I'm clinging, white knuckled,
To the barricade,
I built, to protect me.

I am not yet giving in to the maelstrom of emotion,
That will wash over me like a tsunami.
Toss me and leaving me gasping for air,
When I do go back;
To the relative safety of his embrace.

The hurt is great.
The return, slow and painful.
He, who was supposed to be my rock,
Crumbled into dust
Before my sadness.

I, in despair.
That he,
Who should,
Did not recognise me.
So I drove him away.

And now I am left,
Just holding on.

Broken

When she found herself alone.
She had the belief,
That the cruel exclusions,
And the hateful barbs,
Could all be endured,
If he came and found her;
If he 'had her back'.

But she found herself fighting alone.
And then he sought her.
She, wounded by battle,
Had nothing;
Certainly nothing to give him,
Or anybody else.

We he found her alone and in despair,
He tried to soothe her,
With his excuses and explanations.
She covered her ears to the assault.
But he persisted,
Until she broke away;
And broke down.

Now she finds herself alone,
Shamed and broken.

The subtleties of Misogyny

Misogynists are not always full of machismo.
Sometimes they are placid, misguided souls.
Protective,
And maybe self-characterised as,
Gentlemen.
Even chivalrous.
No, they do no real harm,
So they think.

Yet their gender stereotypes are ingrained.
It is them,
To their very souls.

By their ineptitude they court,
A well-meaning,
Feminine guiding hand.
Who soon becomes a dogsbody.
Somehow we are duped,
By their charming hopelessness.

They are aggrieved that their,
Sensitive new age men's club,
Should be perceived as,
Unwelcome to female members.
Yet it is by its old boy, back scratching,
Laissez faire attitude,
Exclusive.

And heaven help,
The immodestly loud and persistent woman,
Who might challenge any one of them.
For she is a harridan.

The Blame Game

He told me me the gossip going round town.
She had whinged to him...

"We weren't even given a warning.
So and so had got a ticket as well.
It just wasn't fair."

To Him, her argument seemed compelling.
It engendered some sympathy.
Perhaps they should have received a warning rather than a fine.
She had left satisfied at his reaction.

But in the game of saving face,
She neglected to mention,
Her disregard for safety,
And the obvious signage.
Reminders in the newsletter.
Or the way a complainant had been mocked,
And felt compelled, before some one was hurt,
To act.

The blame game,
I think is a primitive reflex.
An action arising from the reptilian brain stem.
'When attacked fight back.'
There goes the few million years of evolution,
That developed our frontal lobes.

The fragility of the human ego

Frustrated tone of voice,
A sideways glance,
Some ill phrased words,
A simple misunderstanding,
So little to unbalance the delicate mechanism.
Retorts and recriminations,
Amplification and divisive speech,
All facilitate the formation,
Of gangs and factions,
Busy isolating and excluding,
Their status quo, and standing are retained.
As the tall poppies are cut down,
By lesser creatures,
Those on the edge watch on and ponder,
The purpose of it all.