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My self is too old for my body
I'm ready to settle down
I'm ready to get on with my life
All the others won't stop long
enough for me to explain.
Not even the world understands.
I've been typealised, stereotyped
copied, assumed, and not allowed.
Any more and i may give a good cry.
It takes something i don't have
to take charge of the situation
Time. . .
© 1986 john r. chase
(delete, delete, delete...) i just typed about two pages to explain this poem, and then realised that it's more than anyone wants to know. the obvious is that this is about my desire to marry. yet as i again revisit and meditate on this poem, knowing what i know now, that my motivations have been formed by the constant pounding of the waves of criticism and invalidation on the shores of my tender heart, i'm filled with sadness. i feel like so much time has been lost. if someone would have only revealed these things when i was much younger, perhaps i could have skipped all the years of pain and frustration. then again...