The Swamp
Lost in the swamp of old arguments
Thinking of the perfect things to say
But knowing it wouldn’t have mattered
Even if I said it.
Wading, wading, wading. But what if?
What if I had stood up for myself?
Would unburdening have felt better,
Or just piled more regret?
I push through the muck
Trailed by a tangle of vines and branches and words and resentments
I want to leave them behind, I think I learned these lessons
But still they cling to me, or I to them
Could there be more to learn here?
Or maybe that’s not how it works.
Is there more that I haven’t seen,
Or am I going in circles?
Fearing the swamp does not serve me.
Even if I wanted to run, I can’t.
The mud and vines get their power from fear.
Moving slowly is not a danger.
The weight I pull is not pulling me back.
But still the tension…
Why argue with some phantom of years gone by,
Some sneering visage so smug in their manipulations?
Why craft words that wouldn’t have won the day,
Even if I had said them at the time?
But anger at myself serves me no better than fear.
The wounds hurt, but I didn’t inflict them.
The anger and the fear are here,
Tangled with themselves and my memories
Rage will not help me untie these knots
But drowning it in mud won’t untie the anger
There’s supposed to be a happy ending to this story,
But I don’t know it yet.
I mentioned in my previous post that I've been writing poems as a creative exercise to share with my niece when we talk via video chat, this is another one I wrote as part of that.
(header image is a cropped version of this Pixabay image)
You don't know what the happy ending will be?? 😂 😂
This is a lovely poem.. I enjoyed reading it... Keep it up
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