I’ve been possessive, 


once or twice,

of people I’ve been kind to

when they’ve been kind

to someone else

I hadn’t liked or found a threat – 

as if I’d wished that those I loved

were jealous too, and unkind types

who threatened, fearful

I might see what I also might have been,

would lock me in a gilded 

cage with them instead,

and keep us both, inside,


each of us – canary like –

repeating a refrain

‘It’s better here, inside, just us.

We are just the same’.

An eternal game,

replayed until the lock wears thin,

and life takes flight, again. 

I needn’t add regret or 

fancy self-analysis

attempt to rectify – 


mistakes I’ve made – 

no more or less 

than note that what has meant the most

to me 

is simple authenticity, 

rather than consistency; 

forgiving and compassionately 

kindly given love. 

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