The line of least res[i][stance]

My stance is unwavering except in the presence

of bullying people of

all too close relationship.

And this is a problem, both for me and for

them: for the man I am becoming

is the man who was battered

into assailable weaknesses of [wondrous-

{ly]ing}

damaged goods and de-

script-

i-

on-

shhhh.

 

And under the bullying my unwavering

soul becomes overly giving and aims to take

the chemical line of least

resistance.

But my stance as a man must be other than

this: my stance as

the man I wish to remain is to take the

line of cor-

rect-

i-

tu-

de: the line not of least but appropriate

resistance:

in all cases;

every time;

without fail or futuring idiocies.

 

And whilst I am here, and the walls do im-

pose as enemies of reason-

able actions and

roses that spike and thorn their loving

way to pain and smit-

ten hurtfulnesses – or 

more! – I wonder why not: why can’t

we proclaim a different way of being

together?

But then I realise it’s far too late:

the evidence is there: the footage will

age us if examined and insp-

ected like plasm of gross phan-

tasms: I promise it’s not what you’ll ever

want to see, watch, view or

re-

view.

Just do take my word: just do

listen here: a life together of a different

nature can be forged out of cordial

visit, where squash and juice sit brightly

on table, and coffee percolates

safely out of sight.

 

And I conserve the desire for real friendship

and respect; and hope this will

be possible and true.

But that is my choice – neither Hobson’s

nor forced.  And what we do now

will entirely be

d-

own …

… to

y-

o-

u.

 

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