Handyman


Turn up the lights

Turn up the lights on us
Illumine the shadow that lies between.
Show you the truth that is your sceen.

I still feel love for you.
But my wounded body fails,
To show you what kind of love it wants to give.
But on your side of that shadow so many tales
You have told yourself,
to get met, your needs.

Dead —
long ago — was the seed
That might have grown to know
A wondrous love that could have been.
Now all you send
Is a false notion of affection;
In order to keep me around.
Enslaving me to your worldly needs.

This isn’t sound love
Its just your generosity.
Its just getting someone else,
doing for you what you need and want
Done for you without giving back, authentically.

Who have you ever loved?
Could you ever have loved,
without ever expecting love in return?
Between true love and mere generosity
You cannot discern.

You are not alone among those who
have never learned to give;
never expecting anything in lieu
Of True Love; left with your desire.

You think by your generosity you’ve gone higher than
all them who surround you.
They tried to give themselves as best they know how.

You are a survivor who knows how to
keep others close, deep and at bay.
As long as they are doing your biding
Among them being good for you,
you will keep. Who are you kidding?

When they come out of their own sleep.
When they realize they are being used.
And your needs are no longer met:
You are no longer amused,
You are no longer set.
A crisis rushes through your heart.
You still never see where all this
Manipulation did ever start.

I now see you. I believe I understand.
From your mother’s child labor to
your husband’s marital slavery.
From one master to another worse.
What of genuine love did you ever learn.
From all the abuse your heart burned
with ill passions
Even your first born never gave you her appreciation.
And what have her siblings done to show love for you?

No one loved you. There were plenty
who lusted you.
They all spoke of your beauty.
And you learned to use that attraction
to fill the emptiness of your heart.
You learned to use every guy’s lust
for whatever you thought was for your
best.
Companionship, gifts and fixing fixtures
They were all each your Handyman
They thought they were your Lover
When they stopped; you’d hop to
another.
With a handyman to suck the life dry
You say you don’t need marriage,
still I see when you cry
In this kind of life, you feel rather
disparaged.
There’s no love it’s all only a lie.

I’m not your Handyman
I loved you with all sincerity.
You were too high, far off the ground,
flying the freedom, you believed you
had found
Free from majka or muž
Yet you could never see me
All these years you kept yourself from dying like the luvs you are.

I’m not your Handyman
I’m no saint either
But I’ll have been the greatest man
You think you’ll have never known.
Just not your Handyman.


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