From Feb 2009
You tear it up
I pick up the pieces and reuse
You listen to cruel experiments without flinching
I feel sick and want to cry
You discuss slippers and handbags and criticise my hair
Can’t you see I don’t care?
You don’t care for culture or god
I yearn for both
I can’t understand sadism or a will to hurt
There is no romance for the philosopher
For anyone courageous, intelligent and self-aware
There is no dependence
I like my space.
I don’t stick to people
But there is angst of not being understood
Or perhaps it is a longing for like minds
We who love, care, feel, think, and learn.