I donít want to talk about it;
it feels intrusive to answer questions.
I donít want your commiserating pity;
it feels too condescending.
I donít want reassuring hugs:
they feel constrictive and confining.
I donít want you to protect me:
it makes me feel weak and pathetic.
I donít want conciliatory agreement;
it feels like you are humouring me.
I donít want your words of sympathy;
they sound fake and belittling.
I donít want you to be understanding;
there is no way you could ever know.
But there was once a little boy
who needed all those things above.
He didnít ever get them, though
and now he always feels that hunger:
to be kept safe, to be fixed, to be held,
for someone to know and understand
and intervene and make it all right.
I know that he still needs it all
but his needs and my wants
are working at cross purposes.
I think Iíd like a little rage;
maybe he would too.
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"My experience has shown me that I all too often tend to deny that which lies behind, but as I still believe, that which is denied cannot be healed." Brennan Manning, "All is Grace - A Ragamuffin Memoir"