Adieu in Haiku

Watch me turn to goo.
Estrogen and two-day flu
can do that to you.

Hormones regulate
to keep our shells functional/
emotions in flux.

It's facile to point
the finger at estrogen.
It's the catalyst!

I shall not myself
disserve by minimizing
years of atrophy.

A Creative Soul.
An Independent Spirit.
A Wanderluster.

No work and no school.
Seven years, child-rearing.
Ten, of dependence.

My core is trampled.
I cry in grief; mourn its loss
as my wings are bound.

I am certain now
I was meant to be a Paul:
"Fly solo and serve."

My soul is selfish
but my heart is generous.
My spirit needs space.

Inability
to stretch my abilities
fill me with self-doubt.

Am I viable?
Have I creative value?
Or am I useless?

Ten years of cleaning
up messes I haven't made.
"A woman's work..." BAH!

I am so tired
of mediating, begging,
and being ignored.

Growing up in a
household full of contention,
I played referee.

I loathe, loathe conflict.
"Will you people just shut up?!?
Go do something else!"

Raised voices stress me.
When people fight, I freak out.
Kids will always fight.

I ask nicely, then
I yell, and my blood surges.
All for some order.

My energies spent
on keeping others at peace
while I die inside.

Constant human noise
drive me up the wall, and yet
children should be heard.

All my hard-fought years
to cultivate myself to
change taught behaviours

are nullified now.
Noise and space-deprivation
reduce me to bits.

Despite all my work,
my parents' voices are mine,
and I hate myself.

What I really need
is not to be needed, please.
Just leave me alone.

I think back to youth,
and find I was happiest
when I was alone.

Yes, I've made my bed.
But, there is a solution
to meet all our needs.

My Three, Sweet Piggies
and my Gorgeous, Clever Wolf:
I just need a break.

Freedom to breathe; think.
Family can complicate,
but not abolish.

Time and space surround,
yet are hard to obtain. Still,
Phoenix is rising.

Options rise from friends
to visit Museums or
swim alone in Greece.

Regardless of which,
the die has been cast; I shall
wander, then come home...

My sketchbook will fill,
Musings shall flow unfettered.
I shall walk, and think

in silence and calm.
The pieces will fall just where
they were meant to be.

The messes I clean
will be messes that I made.
And that will be that.

And when I return,
you will witness the person
you were meant to know:

renewed and patient.
Refreshed, with more clarity,
I'll be of greater service.

My heart swells to find
myself again. Solitude.
The World, my Oyster.




(photo credit: Cape Sounion by Kuno Lechner)