I spend a long day wrestling with love
arguing with myself back and forth
I am no angel descended from above
Those undeserving of my love make me wroth
yet my core argues that it still loves them
and agrees their cruelty’s beyond the pale
I snarl and cough and choke on bitter phlegm
Defend my self staying far away and hale
My core agrees I shall not tolerate abuse
Forgive yet we despair we’ll ever reconcile
They show no guilt nor shame for their misuse
My core says let them be: she is so mild
Negotiation done: Agreed. I may love those who I love
But I leave contact with them to the angels and Beloved.
_____________________
Sonnet 10
KO Rural Mad As Hell Blog 
Love is the weirdest damned thing. For various reasons a few years ago I decided that the ideal manifestation is consistency and kindness. That’s all. Actual human beings are fucked up, solipsistic, neurotic, competitive and scared, all driving them in many bizarre directions. And, I think, we love them anyway, but part of what we love is us.
Projections always interested me. I dated one man who liked me very much 6 days a week, when he was not with me. When he was with me, the reality impinged on his ideal dream girl that he had pasted over me. I got curious about how long he could maintain the fiction: nearly two years.
and often we don’t even realize when we’re projecting. I have a couple of exes who have expressed nostalgia for the times we were together. That’s nice, but neither of those times were all that great.