At a very young age (around aged 3), I developed an “insecure attachment style.”

Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.
Then the pattern repeated itself.

10,000, 000 hours of therapy and “self-help practices” later,

The pattern is repeating itself.

The only difference is I’m aware The pattern is repeating itself.

It’s a GREAT START, though! It makes me feel more “sane and secure” when I’m aware History is trying to repeat itself.

The patterns color my history, but my awareness of them shows ME how strong I’ve been the entire time.

I’m not shooting for “happily ever after,” but rather “hopefully-awareful-and-content.”



Since You were the only intended audience for my poems,
I guess that means You were My Muse.
The thought disturbs me.
Because, without a Muse,
How does one Make Music?
I couldn’t stand the quiet of
Loneliness any longer,
So I had to learn to Make Music without you.
In the process, I’ve learned to A-Muse myself.
I’m even making better music these days, oddly enough,
Enhanced after blowing through a Muse, and
Exchanging Muses.



Some people structure and order their lives to such a degree,
should you meet someone you want to “get to know,”

You feel like you’re “trespassing against” their lives to do so.

Who in their right mind is going to do that for long? I’ve only ever done it when my screws needed a good tightening.

Because feeling like a Trespasser is a terrible way to feel;
It ultimately leeches you of your motivation to care in the first place.

It ALWAYS takes too long, but the simple fact is:

When it ends (because how can you welcome trespassers while admonishing them to Keep Out!?),

Your feelings for “Special Person You Hoped To Know Better” WILL die.

But this particular moment in time, when you cross the line into “Not Caring Anymore,” isn’t for the faint of heart:

It might NEVER cease being a Mixed Blessing.

Then who’s The Trespasser?

A MULTI-HUED FOOL, Retooled & Re-pared (down a little)

None of it matters,
None of it happened,
No one was hurt, and
No one ever has been,
Except, apparently
THIS “has-been,”
Who isn’t now, nor will ever be,
Cut out for long-term memories.

No matter how you slice it,
In this minor situation,
I was major-stupid,
And a clueless fool was I
100% of the time.
I’d even hazard-to-say
I played The Fool in every game.
Yahtzee, Poker, and Parchisi?
Being foolish was so easy!

Under cover of darkness,
And everywhere under the sun;
From before its rise,
Through it’s eye-squinting setting,
My foolishness became record-setting,
Hoisting and foisting foolish me

High Upon and into a Dunce’s Corner,
So I could “get myself in order,”
Growing This Fool into
An Anti-Hero or Villain,
Not the Ingenue I’d assumed
You’d stuff into
During Your Bedtime Story.

But since you never told it,
I slept and dreamt
I was a Drooling Idiot,
Waking to find
I didn’t pretend it.

I’ll say it again:
Your character isn’t convincing.
Not that you TRIED to convince me;
It’s why I did all the gift-giving, up-lifting,
And emotional heavy-hitting.
Now I’m ashes-sifting.

As for any fireworks shared,
They’ve grown so cold,
The only stars Memory serves
Were laid and laced into Constellations
I couldn’t find again;
Couldn’t find to BEGIN.

I was also an Artistic Fool,
Swayed by the poetic words
Colorfully shaded by Me,
But Foolishly written for You.
I know in my bones YOUR favorite hue,
When NOT painting me from Memory,
Is “foolish” (if not garish & ghoulish).

I also know IF you had a favorite shade of Degrade
For the egg upon MY face,
It’s Arrow-Marked by a Neon-Dart,
Buzzing, blinking, and endlessly repeating

The situation is dire
And the hour is dour;
It’s time to do ‘Everything Required’
To dislodge the extra Stupid I’ve acquired.
I’ve become foolishly situated,
And my mind forcibly evacuated
In order to grant YOU Your Time & Space,
Since somewhere between
Alone and Beside Another
Is your favorite Time-Hiding Place.

This Foolishness I’ve found myself in?
It’s past-time for it to end.
So, I’ll simply sum it up:
I stooped too low,
I got too thin,
I cut too close,
And I let Stupid in.
But you can solace in my promise
It won’t happen again.

The Best Lover

Sorry judges of character get sorry examples of character on their lists of lovers.

In retrospect, I’ve never been in love with anyone but me in my relationships.

When I rewind the movies in mind, I was the only one who loved the way I wanted to be loved.

The only one who was willing to be there during the tough times, the only one who didn’t ditch, the only one who tried to make holidays and birthdays special. The only one who KNEW the other’s birthday (without having to look it up). As in: “by heart” because “close to heart.”

I was the only one who cried alone, often, and at all.

Husband #1 did go to some medical appointments with me, but not many. I did all my own chemo , radiation, post-surgical, and most of the fertility appointments, including the driving. He was golfing (like he always was; husband number 2 was always biking) when I miscarried my first pregnancy. Said “pregnancy” hadn’t met the dictionary-definition of “child” yet, so I suffered alone and no one comforted me. It was a terribly lonely time.

Basically, I was the only one who could be bothered to keep a promise in most of my significant/insignificant relationships.

I have a million other examples, but I’m suddenly green at the gills. Or is it gray at the grills? Honestly, I can’t remember my “stupid shit” anymore!

You know, the kind of stuff you blab about over pillows when you’re in love?

Or how I would imagine it might feel.

I’ve said it before and I’ll probably keep saying it, but:

I am The Best Lover I’ve Ever Had. For My “Life’s Official Record,” I was THE BEST: The Personal Best and The Collective Best.

I did it ALL!! I kept the plates in the air. I dropped half of them, but at least I was at home, breaking them-while-TRYING-to-juggle-them.

So, no “mea culpas” and no “mes culpabits.” In now and in retro: I’m an 11❣️❤️‍🔥🔥



You burned me with Hot.
I returned you with Soft;
Yet you torched me down
To ash the ground.
You crushed me there,
Scared me there, but
Never bothered to call me by name
Or stare into my eyes,
Which Cried and Died Me there.
Why? Because you accosted me there
And DEARLY costed me there.

Next, you buried me there,
Which was NO surprise
Since Stupid “I”
FINALLY clued to realize
That Stupid YOU never cared.
You Left me there, and
Forever Hid me there,
So if ANYONE ever loved me HERE,
They’d NEVER find me THERE.

You scooped me and consumed me,
Took my fumes but then refused
My Most-Inner Precious.
Damn! You were so reckless
With my very human’s heart.
It terrifies me to ponder
If you planned it All from the start.

You turned my insides out, and
Like a louse and a lout,
You debased me and
Tried to erase me.
You must have thought me
The most foolish of clowns
To take my full-to-busting
Unrequited-but-trusting self
And cooly shoot Me down
To live in Oblivion,
With all the Other Idiots.

I hope you’re Lost,
Thrown, Turned, Tossed,
Never Touched and Never Held.
It’s MY turn to spitely spurn,
So let ME be The First
To welcome YOU to the
Cold and Callous Illusional Palace
Known as Hell which YOU
So sacrificially and altruistically
Designed and condemned ME to!

It so much more than Disappoints;
It shreds my “Kind And Caring,”
And stamps me “Not Worth
Procuring, Insuring or Sparing.”

In short and with spite,
You diluted my price,
Neglecting and Rejecting
Me as common and cheap.
You confused me, used me,
And if that wasn’t enough,
You left me shattered,
Torn, shorn, and tattered
In an Indifferent and invisibly
Bloody, neglected heap.

So don’t YOU DARE find
YOU mind it’s finally MY time
To judge and send YOU
To your OWN hell;
I hope it whisks you down below
In a fancy stretch limo;
But if not, I wont sweat
Because at least I’M nice enough
To drive you there Myself!

In Playground Terms

In Playground Terms

YOU said you wanted to play with ME.
I finally believed you enough that
We went out to the Playground, where
You told me I had to go first.
So I told you all my secrets,
But when it was your turn, you never shared a single one of YOURS.
Instead, you ran off and played with other kids,
Leaving me all alone, without a word.
You are MEAN, and you’re NOT my friend.
Sadly, you apparently never were.
The good news is I’ll always be Me, and you’ll never taste another Piece.
I won’t ever warm you with my kindly rays again.
I feel sorry for you, actually.
It must be scary dark where YOU are right now.



I thought I would expire from Not Knowing, yet
My need to understand died with my feelings.
I made myself smaller, so you wouldn’t be afraid.
Then, I kept my door open for you way too long, subjecting myself to severe infection, hypothermia, and hyperthermia.
I nearly died from exposure.
Now, the door is so sealed shut, I couldn’t find those feelings again if my life depended on it.
There’s simply no ingress for your size and shape,
Only and In particular YOURS,
But perfectly suited to the size and shape of OTHERS.
So thank you for THAT, at least.


THE WHY BEHIND: What YOU Never Gifted ME

I begged, I pled.
You reneged, you denied.
I cried but didn’t shy,
Yet YOU never moved
A single inch, couldn’t be counted on in a pinch.
The constant doubt, wondering what it was all about? That’s the kind of shit I can DEFINITELY do without!
This serves as the “Official WHY” behind
Misfortune’s whimpered truth,
Now that “we”’re Forever Through.

The End of Nothing:

A Lesson for My “Daughters”

There comes a time to last-ditch No Significant Effort. If there’s no effort invested, you lose Nothing. Sometimes it’s good to jettison vanishing vaporous Nothing. It bears no mass, but it can weigh a lot.

Wash, Rinse, and Repeat. Wash Your Hair. Blow some cash and blow some steam. You deserve it after all that time and effort you wasted on Nothing, Nothing Special, and Less Than You Deserve.

Call it a Temporary Loss of Self-Esteem (resulting in the Attraction Theory’s End Result) that caused you to lower your standards in the FIRST PLACE (which is always the Ultimate Indignity!). If not for your Relapse on your Self-Love Journey, you would’ve settled for Someone who treated you like Something Special instead of Nothing Special.

We’ll heretofore refer to these as “Temporary Interludes of Illogic.” All the same, if you were going to blow your self-worth on a giant heap of Nothing, I’m proud of you for treating it like Something while it lasted (you have a heart) and failing so abysmally at it (you saw it all the through to the crash). I know without a doubt that YOU will recover.

Promise me you won’t get so good at Learning from Mistakes you Stop Taking Chances. Failure is always a potential consequence of Chance. No risk, no return after all. No matter what. keep feeling. Keep learning, keep testing. And I hope you don’t have to, but if it keeps you feeling and learning, keep failing until you get it right or until you die.

Just wear your seat belts.

For [A Select Few] Males Raised with Lots of Sisters

For [A Select Few] Males Raised with Lots of Sisters

Kindly pass this message to Them at your next holiday dinner:

•Which one of you idiots graduated this moron?
•You useless twit. What were you THINKING?!
•Did you use any objective testing criteria?
•Sigh.. I knew you didn’t. That’s Eighteen Shades of Obvious.
•Well, Thanks for Nobody and his giant mound of Nothing… just what we all needed…Another ASSHOLE!!

Love & Marriage, in Terms I Can Understand

I joke about my many marriages, but the fact is I’ve only been married twice and divorced twice. You’d be surprised: some peoples’ ratios aren’t balanced.

The aberrations are the “never-married-but-legally-divorced” folks (who have fractional ratios), and the polygamists (whose ratio is multiple).

Anyway, it’s highly ironic that my highly-civilized, highly-respectable mother has been married considerably more times than I have and would only consider sharing her secret number with a potential marriage partner – but I have no doubt she’d be honest about it. She’s VERY nice. Nice people are divorced, too.

So I don’t know why she finds it appalling when I bring up her prior marriages – even to my own father, who she married when they were both 19.

Maybe the reason I feel like I’ve been married and divorced so many times is because I have? Probably also why I think about marriage in mathematical terms.

I’m sure it’s all compounded because, as a childless person, I haven’t had the opportunity to rewrite history by living vicariously through my children.

The worst part is that I feel there’s NOTHING I can’t do to convert this Giant Heap of Pain into ANYTHING to prevent MY Fate from becoming the DEFAULT Adult Fate. And what almost kills me is that I can’t do anything to prevent it from becoming the Default CHILD Fate, either.



I have to be highly entertaining because I’m a tough crowd, and I’m both sole performer and sole audience member most of the time.

Not to mention, I’m really hard on myself.

And while most people would agree I’m highly agreeable, I’m ALSO notoriously difficult to please or impress.

So… I imagine you can imagine my inner struggles.

PS. If I didn’t have such low standards, I’d be too afraid to perform at all.

The Mistake I Made

The Mistake I Made

I mistook a Poetic Soul
For a Generous Soul.

This mistake bankrupted me,
So I can’t afford Mistakes anymore;
They come at great expense.

I can’t repay them,
Only replay them;
So I won’t make them
With Any Other Living Soul,
Dead or Alive,
Ever NEVER Again.


No dessert today; too much time sweating in a hot kitchen.


I’ve fought in many wars
And I’m deeply scarred;
I’m always decked and hurt
And don’t possess Night Vision
Sharp enough to see nighttime stars.

Yet I Won’t Go Down
Without a Fght;
I’ll be carted off dead
Or walk away with my life.

But should I die and You decide
To take MY Life into YOUR Hands,
Just to later hand It back to Me
(Generous YOU, but Ownership ME),

Should I be Grateful?
Or should I be Hateful?
YOU tell ME what I should be.

I am Both,
Wholly and Equally.
My battle’s were hard,
And so are my scars,
But it’s Magic versus Tragic
When Scars turn to Stars.



Chances are, Most People who feel sorry for Themselves aren’t doing so out of pathological Self-absorption.

Rather, most are probably doing it because Nobody felt sorry for Them when They needed Someone to.

And/Or They didn’t extend the appropriate sorrow to Themselves when They needed Someone to.

HAVE A GIANT PITY PARTY if that’s what you Need to do.

Somebody probably needs to cry for a very reasonable, Age-Appropriate Reason.


I feel no pity,
You treated me shitty.

When I was broken,
You spared no token

To usher me away
So I would forever stay

Absent from your presence;
This was the Only Present
Gifted to Me by You,

Because you’re such a spineless twit!
For you I don’t give a single shit
And miss you not the SLIGHTEST bit.

In fact I’m so ever-scary-glad
I don’t have to be your “Better Half.”
Let your replacement wife play this role;
I found it limp as well as cold
And as unsatisfying as your touch,
Which moved me Never and “Not Much.”

I’ll conclude with the book review
I’ve written of my life with you:
[It may be late, but it’s still true]
“The most tiresome and boring, Inglorious Story
Ever read or ever told.”

Return on Investment?

No one should choose you
Then leave you to feel
Like a Giant Loser
Instead of the Lucky Winner;
Chances are the Loser Won the Lottery
But eventually Lost his Money
And didn’t taste your sweetness, Honey.

He’s the Most Expensive Loser,
The one whose costs won’t be recovered
Nor the Gift-Wrapped Prize of You,
Sent back to spoil as Over-cooked.

You cried and begged too long for Food,
It wasn’t wise, it wasn’t good;
Some people just aren’t worth the Waste
Of precious time; their bitter taste
Sits like Ash within one’s mouth;
Such Losers are best thrown out!