Self Love

She used to accept

his Bohemian life

while she kept to herself

an outdoor body and soul

toning her narcissistic self.


One art-exhibition would draw

another one

in an abundance of creativity

he thrives in.

It’s easier to assemble friends

for support

than find one responsive

sponsor for his genuine art.


When the bubble of freedom

bursts and one is thrown

from the transfer boat

of depression

one would still crawl to land

in spite of being stripped

of one’s pieces of art

a library and all dearest


girlfriends and models

friends and joyful company.


Perhaps all that happens

is meant for one’s own good

even if it is a kick into one’s


There’s the theory of fate

the question of one’s destiny

of course the query of God.


She still slams the kitchen door

into the artist’s face

yet he’s content being in his

small domain at peace and quiet.

Whenever he pleases her with

a present

her attitude is fine for a day.


Morning’s she’ll hug his

denuded body at times

for she’s keen on body contact

she murmurs…

but will not follow it thru’

as she used to

when still in love.

Self-love prevails.





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