My life is irrelevant:
existing of course,
but only for myself,
for I feel that others
see my value
and define me
only in what I do,
and that all else
is of no consequence,
is absence.
My life is useful:
to some, at times,
in the needs of life,
I am convenient
to have around
as the one who
solves and gives,
but there is nothing
ever returned.
My life is alone:
I live in an island
among a whole
lot of connected land
and despite my need
to be with others
I can only be to
others this thing,
of absence.
My life is one-directional:
the communications
flow liberally from
my side of the exchange,
but only necessity drives
the exchange from the other,
so that in my soul
I am in the margins,
in the silence of the unsaid.
And account for this state
of my isolated being I cannot,
though I am open to try;
and I wonder what it feels like
to be desired,
to be wanted,
to draw another’s
thoughts and actions genuinely,
to feel more than grudgingly needed,
to experience the undiluted
intimacy of love
that dissolves absence.
19/3/2017