LOVE IS (Revised) by Elizabeth Hipwell

Love is...

Confounding
(You broke up with me by text message and by phone)
Surprising
(You never even faced me in person
You were that weak)

Disappointing
(You took the pets away when I wasn't home, not letting me even say goodbye to them
One can be invested in a person who is not worth it)

And sometimes makes no sense
It cannot be planned 
It creeps up on you
And is often 
Far from what the fairy tales tell us

(Often one-sided, 
You did say you hadn't wanted to be there for me when I had my TWO surgeries,
Even though I was there for you through all SIX of your hospitalizations, ECT and other medical appointments and your strep throat ER visit

Chock full of betrayal and emotional rape)

It's like a twisted vine that curls infinitely
Caressing with tenderness
Infiltrating with it's sharp thorns and idiosyncrasies
As I get to know loves curves,
Cubbyholes and corridors
It can be overwhelming
Its many hidden passageways
Lead to unknown territory
It grows in unexpected directions
Which cannot be foreseen or controlled

(I wish I had foreseen the sociopaths lack of love  
The person who is the subject of this poem)
Love sees the imperfections
Relishes them

(Naively overlooks them because hope springs eternal)
Accepts them
Celebrates them
Love is confusing and scary
A risk

(One that was a waste of my time & love) 
I often want to scoot away from it

(Why didn't I listen to that voice that said, "She is bad news and all about herself." )
Avoid it
Put on the pounds to keep it at bay
Protect myself from the inevitable hurt

(You know, I am happy with who I am now. 
The pain is just too much to bear.) 
Then why do I get giddy at its possibility?

(Because I am too trusting.

I'm a stupid romantic)

Someones eyes
Really seeing them
(Who knows if that's the real person) 

Them really seeing me

(She never really saw me after all 

just what I could do for her)
Trusting them

(What a mistake that was) 
Trusting me
Love makes it hard to think straight and maintain my autonomy

(I wasn't too good at that) 
Loosen the control
Let down the armor
Let in the messiness of love...

(Maybe not. Maybe not in the foreseeable future.
She was not worthwhile)
-Elizabeth Hipwell

Beginnings in media res

1. As I slowly disappeared in my tardy shrink’s waiting room, my eyes continually landed on a “Disaster Plan” flyer. It sported a mere ambulance picture with no emergency numbers, and loomed over a choking emergency chart. I puzzled how I would stop choking on my self-destructive thoughts and escape the disaster that was my expectant 54-year torturous life span. 
2. John slipped the umpteenth millionth resume envelope into the building’s rusty mail slot. The slot creaked emphatically and digested his last stamp from the month-old full roll. It gulped his current request for work. 
3. The narrower she focused, her sight increased. Her faded vision opened a panorama, concentrated vistas that revealed persevering patches in the kaleidoscopic quilt of her personal experiences. 
4.  “I’m sitting here because I don’t feel well,” the bundled, ruddy-faced woman declared to the guy entering the elevator. 
5. Bullet-riddled war fields and stark-uniformed troops littered inner city streets in Al Qaeda-occupied counties. Both insurgencies bore similar dressings; nobody could win. The president called his war-mongered cabinet to divine a graceful withdrawal from drug-torn, poverty-infested Middle-Eastern landscapes. 
6. She slipped and boomed back-flat on a sheet-ice bed; her son laughed at her. She told her neighbor that, no, in fact, she was not all right. The neighbor said, “Oh, okay,” and abruptly relocked her door. 
7. Acrid urine fumes and soiled dishwater stench reeked throughout her apartment; clean and dirty laundry heaps littered the hallway; and three boxes of unopened mail enveloped table tops and open floor spaces. She wept a little, turned on her side, and fell asleep while her TV shattered silence. 
8. At Christmas dinner, she could not ignore the beatific cherubic faces that shone from her cousins’ faces. She remembered when holiday magic enlightened her countenance, but now joy materialized in a second-person voice. She lost her first-person voice after parenthood emerged. 
9. Her stroke produced picture images instead of colorless words, providing the new wrinkle of more entertaining thoughts that seemed to obscure communication. At least, that’s what she believed. 
10. Coming home to her struck mother, who could not longer talk or walk, seemed insanely awkward. More to the point, she couldn’t stay with her Mom because the 24-hour nurse occupied the guest bedroom. She felt prematurely stripped of her inheritance.