I once felt like an utensil in your hand,
A tool for your glory, your selfish demand.
You spoke of love, but I felt the strain,
Like I was nothing more than a means to your gain.

At fifty-two, you said I was your first,
A love so deep, you claimed, a thirst.
But your words were empty, and your heart was cold,
Leaving me to wonder what you’d truly sold.

You used my kindness, my love, my soul,
A narcissist's game, I played the role.
But you, wrapped in your fragile pride,
Never saw the damage you left behind.

I'm not here to hate, not here to blame,
But your illness doesn’t give you the right to play the game.
Love should be mutual, not one-sided and torn,
Not leaving a heart bruised and worn.

But now, I stand, not broken, but whole,
Rising from the ashes, reclaiming my soul.
I gave my all, but now I see,
It’s time to let go, and set myself free.

Hope isn’t lost, it’s found in the fight,
In knowing my worth, in finding my light.
I am not a tool, I am not a pawn,
I am the storm, the calm, the dawn.

To those like me, who’ve been torn apart,
You are not less for giving your heart.
It’s time to heal, it’s time to grow,
To leave behind what we no longer know.

Grace will come, like a gentle stream,
As you rise from the ashes of broken dreams.
You are worthy of love, of joy, of peace,
A love that’s real, where hurt can cease.

So hold your head high, and walk with grace,
You are more than enough in this vast, wide space.
No longer a piece of someone else’s game,
You are whole, and you'll rise again.

With some packing the bags
Others folding the tent
My best guess is
It just wasn’t meant

Loud and proud crowds
At what just occurred
Leaves behind little doubt
A nation undeterred

As the spotlight grows dim
On these demented clowns
Glad to be rid of them
When this circus leaves town

Woke in their wake
Not a one taking blame
In the pointing of fingers
Every which way

It’s hard to balance the high wire
When you’re this blind to the truth
With nary a soul
Daring to support you

As they roll the last credits
With the sun going down
We no longer need to fret it
When this circus leaves town

A piece of me, I left behind,
A fragment fading from my mind.
I shed the mask, dissolved the name,
In losing self, I found the flame.

The weight I carried, now set free,
A shadow dies, so I can be.

in quiet rooms where shadows hide,
celia whispers, soft inside.
a secret kept, a dream unspoken,
a song of strings, unbroken.

she waits in corners, dark and deep,
where memories fade, and shadows sleep.
eyes of silence, heart of mist,
tracing what’s been missed.

I'm just allowed to read 5 poems. I can't scroll down for  more.
I don't know what mistake I've made for Eliot to close the door.
I know I'm not the only one with no access to the index
Which I consulted constantly from forgetfulness and reflex.
Is there some way to make amends and put things back to right
Or are we all to drop our pens and fade into the night.

Will Eliot do something new and leave us on our own
Or are his plans a secret - totally to us unknown
Will Hello Poetry ever come back and be the way it's been
If we should lose our access it would be the gravest sin
I've offered Elliot a check instead of monthly nicks
But I've not had a word from him - up to his usual tricks.

I'll keep submitting what I write and see if it's displayed
And if it  never does appear, sadly I will be dismayed
If I am not the only one facing this conundrum
Let me have a word or two and tell me who it's from.
Then I won't feel I've crossed a line and there's no hope for me
And all together we will wait to see what we can see.

Is it better to have what you want
Or what you need?
This question bothers me every night
Why can't what I need be what I want,
And why can't I want what I need?

Now that I want you
I don't really need you
I need the air that I breathe
But I didn't want it
Until I had you

So maybe I need you after all