To Be Alone And Yearning

A young boy grew up feeling incomplete

raised in a family which shunned his identity;

what mattered most was the family’s conceit –

to have one member be unique was unprovoked obscenity.


He spent half a life-time hiding behind a mask;

just to feel loved and valued was a Herculean task.

Never allowed to have needs or wants of his own,

he must please the family if he’d like love shown.

He’s going to feel quite fucked up when he’s fully grown.


Trying to re-learn a healthy self-esteem in his twenties,

wandering the world as a poor man

constantly counting pennies.

Just happy to be away from those he can’t stand,

trying to figure out this life

and what it is that makes a real man.

An ego balances on the tip of a knife.

He’s writing from scratch and he’s making a plan.


Then he finds himself a wife who cared just as little

as the family he loved back home.

His thick shell becomes more brittle.


Utterly destroyed after great humiliation,

chewed up and spit out by the one he chose,

and utterly betrayed by his family’s foundation.

He felt no highs,

and he drowned in his lows.

Treated like nothing by those he’d loved the most.


His image of the world shattered

his heart… beat, broke and battered,

feeling like nothing’s really mattered.


Unlovable perhaps,

believing that fills the gaps-

quite nicely in the time-lapse.

Suicide looked more inviting

then a life that kept on biting.


He lived for so long thinking life was too short,

but it felt so damn long with a lack of support.

Wandering this world alone

with scars earned at every milestone.


He shed himself free of all insincerity,

no longer begging for the love of those

who only gave it when they chose.

A moment of heartbreaking clarity,

turned to months of monk-like austerity.


Unconditional love seemed like such a fairy-tale dream,

always on the hunt for the next’s ulterior motives;

every kind word seemed like just a scheme –

only begging to be noticed –

and it killed his own ability

to hold love dear with a sense of real stability.


It seemed the word, love, was never meant for him;

wearing his heart on his sleeve – he’d just lost a limb.

So now he guards that heart under lock and key,

because it seems such a dangerous game to he.


He felt that walking straight towards that love

was like a cow walking towards its slaughter;

until one day, blessed from above,

he was gifted with a daughter.

Then once again – his life parted with an old belief,

because he’d found his true love who might disband his grief.


And as the young girl grew she’d feel a strong love burning –

never knowing what it feels like to be alone and yearning.


40 thoughts on “To Be Alone And Yearning

      1. That makes two of us 😂 I haven’t spoken with mine in years and he lives half an hour away. He’s so toxic I don’t even care if he never sees his granddaughter and he’s made no attempts to really make things right.

        Life is imperfect I guess. The best we can do is try to be for someone else, what we never had ourselves..

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Why do people have to suck, ugh hate that you are left wondering too. We deserved better but because of their hate, we choose to do better, be better and that is what makes us see the value and beauty in unconditionally loving our children.

        You are amazing xoxo

        Liked by 2 people

      1. Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that you are broken, but yes, some people turn the bad experiences into excuses, and others rise above it! I admire those who want to do better & be better!! ❤ ❤

        Liked by 2 people

  1. I’m sorry, Mathew. How sad, yet how beautiful. We have all been through our own versions of hell and back I do believe. In many ways, that’s what makes our poetry insightful, deep and thoughtful. Stand strong wolf boy…love will come in all forms to you over time. The right woman (besides your lovely daughter) will make your heart sing. It will happen…blessings on you x

    Liked by 3 people

  2. I love the honesty and the clarity with which this poem painted something common but often in need of articulating! I like the last two lines, as well as the irony in comparing the belief in the shortness of life to the feelings of length when unsupported. Annnnd, “An ego balances on the tip of a knife./He’s writing from scratch and he’s making a plan.”
    Keep writing!

    Liked by 3 people

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