It is a mistake to assume that feelings are close at hand, familiar,
easily recognisable and categorised.
Feelings can come camouflaged, or disguised as their opposites.
They may be out of earshot, even when they are screaming.
The rare can be mistaken for the commonplace,
the commonplace for the seldom seen.
Feelings are difficult. Feelings are elusive.
Often the close at hand is hardest to see, never more so
than when it is all that is seen,
large enough to fill the entire field of vision.
Similarly, a feeling may persist for such a length of time
That it is mistaken for a condition of existence.
Feelings are spectral. “Is this love,
is this love, is this love
that I’m feeling?”
Or is it something else, or nothing
Sometimes feelings make us cry.
Sometimes, a feeling is so voluptuous
we prolong it artificially,
fanning its embers,
We try to strangle our feelings
before they grow too large to house,
and too difficult to control.
we disown them,
thinking them beneath
They are stubborn
and push back
What we tell ourselves
won’t change them.
They are more real then,
than we are.
We are made,
Not of blood and bone,
Muscle, gristle, fat and flesh
But of feelings,
Jostling and grousing
And fading also,