Powerlessnessful

To be powerful,
or rather, to have some sense of possessing,
even a little,
is so alluring.
Unfortunately, for me,
it's an utter disappointment.

It feels so close and real at times,
but ends up lost;
first on others,
then myself.

The fantasy
that physical strength equals real power,
never fools me,
but still I am taken in by the myth of it.

That I could possess authority by other means,
through control,
or judgment,
I find harder to demystify.
Rich in it's complexity and expression,
it remains equally unsatisfying.

Yesterdays and tomorrows

I recall painfully, my mother looking at me,
saying, "what are you so angry about"?
It wasn't meant as a question, but rather,
a statement.
An admission, more likely,
on her part,
that she didn't really want to know.
Still, it seemed, she must acknowledge it.

I didn't know what to say to her in response,
when she said that.
It seemed to me that I was quite furious,
full of rage,
but couldn't say why.
Certainly, I blamed myself for it.

As I think about it now,
avoiding the consideration of other people's feelings,
or wounding them when I am hurt or angry,
is not how I want to address my future.

I believe, however, that proceeding to the contrary is one of the most difficult things I will do.