Without

With volumes of photo albums and scrapbooks resting in my lap, I require myself to remember 
Forcing myself to see these pictures…a man, his arms wrapped around a girl, a genuine smile on his face
There he is, a man with seemingly such amazing fortune, hardly recognizable through these since hardened eyes
There he is, that smile used to be mine, from a period in time when I was far less angry 

Snaking its way through my body, this everlasting doubt which knows no limits 
Twisting its way towards my heart, I can fight off these insecurities for only brief respites
Until all lines of defense collapse, and these inner-suspicions penetrate me wholly 
Compelling me to retreat, to fall back into ways that force me to protect myself first

Without  the desire to hold her hand
Without  the desire to kiss her on the cheek
Without  the desire to one day be her most massive disappointment
It’s you who I blame
And you…and you…and you…and you

Without the ability to accept her expressions of adoration 
Without the ability to believe a single word she says
Without the ability to trust a single thing about her
It’s you who I blame
And you…and you…and you…and you

When her naked body crashes into me, and I turn away just enough for her to know that I’m not interested
When she relaxes her head on my chest, and I groan just enough for her to move away 
When it’s obvious that she wants to spend the entire morning in bed and I offer every reason imaginable to start our day
Letting her know that it’s time for our little charade to come to an end

Uninvited, unwanted, these relentless suspicions bombard me without warning
Driving all that I once wanted further and further away from me with each passing day
Fully understanding that these doubts will never allow me to live my life wholly
Fully comprehending that this skepticism makes it impossible to appreciate even the present moment
		
Without the desire to hold her hand
Without  the desire to kiss her on the cheek
Without the desire to one day be her most massive disappointment
It’s you who I blame
And you…and you…and you…and you

Without the ability to accept her expressions of adoration 
Without the ability to believe a single word she says
Without the ability to trust a single thing about her
It’s you who I blame
And you…and you…and you…and you

Sitting on the ledge of my fifth story balcony, I allow my legs to dangle over the world that I choose to shut out
The sun slowly sets on another uneventful day, allowing me plenty of time to ponder all that I am missing
Sheer boredom eventually pushes me to my living room bar, where one drink leads to two, where two drinks lead three
The evenings drag on at a snail’s pace until booze and sedatives finally overwhelm me and deep sleep kicks in

Alone, deprived I am of allowing love to nudge my heart or life to graze my soul
Envious of all those who trust so easily, who accept so fully, who live so completely  
Knowing these things are not me, the realization having long ago set in, but still weighing heavily
The impact of some lessons learned can be uncompromising, everlasting, and unforgiving

Without  the desire to hold her hand
Without the desire to kiss her on the cheek
Without  the desire to one day be her most massive disappointment
It’s you who I blame
And you…and you…and you…and you

Without the ability to accept her expressions of adoration 
Without the ability to believe a single word she says
Without the ability to trust a single thing about her
It’s you who I blame
And you…and you…and you…and you

Hurt by many before, the speaker in this poem won't allow himself to care for the woman he is with. He is torn in many ways. While he might like her as a person, he undoubtedly wants her for the sex. But as soon as he climaxes, he wants to have no emotional connection with her. There are many reasons for him to not want to feel any sort of emotional attachment with her, but also holds true to his heart that while none of those reasons are because of her, she is still going to be at fault because those who actually did hurt him are no longer a part of his life. It's not fair to him. More importantly, it's not fair to her. However, that's the way that it is and that is not going to change.

We fail to protect ourselves until it is too late.

Written in 2009

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser