Three years ago
I bought my soul back
And remortgaged the house
I’ll give it a year, I said
Before giving up
And when a year passed, I said
I’ll take it one year at a time.
The other day my father told me,
Your fence needs mending,
Then watched me sag against its twisted trellis
How long will you stay
He asked
At least two years, maybe seven
He sighed.
One should not remain
In a house that can’t be fixed
Or a relationship without tenderness
I left the marriage
But kept the house,
Searching for peace
Within crumbling walls,
And buried brown thumbs
Deep in its neglected garden,
Hoping to find something to save
And love again.
bogeyandruby 
Interesting, however, I have observed that many women write novels or poetry about the same theme. Curious, men get badly hurt too…but they seldom write about it.
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I suspect you are correct, Juan, perhaps because they are told to \”suck it up\” from such an early age. Hopefully, they find other ways to heal if not through writing.Thank you for taking the time to comment.
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