Colette Marowe
how could it be that one has such a grip over another being?
to feel as though your very heart beats to please them,
to write poetry and literature solely for their enjoyment.
to pine and to yearn for another is not enjoyable,
every disappointment is another wicked bruise,
though i suppose the satisfaction of having them is.
i relate;
i am at his whim,
at his disposal,
at his word.
my words fall on deaf ears,
he is no longer listening.
they say eve came from adam’s body,
that she is his missing rib.
i suppose each of us go through life
pining for some sort of companion,
our supposed ‘missing rib’,
though some would rather platonic over romantic.
it’s all the same, really,
one just comes with devotion
and then, usually, heartache.
Colette Marowe is a writer from a small town in England. She’s interested in quiet lives, unsaid things, and the emotional weight of ordinary places. This piece is about a man from a small town in Ireland, though it could just as easily be about any of us. She can be reached at colettemarowe@gmail.com.