misunderstood complaining

Insight comes through self expession

Why don't I love Vienna?
When Vienna's a glorious city?
Is it only their wieners and fahrts 
which make me so uneasy?

What about their gold paint
and stone-faced statues?
opera houses and towering churches?
what about their wonderfully
easy-to-use subway?
I don't see a drop of love in it. 

Their language feels repressive.
They disrespect their food.
Cultural center where all is imported pure.  
Nothing foreign fused together.

What keeps these people from flowing?
Free falling?
As if fear of blasphemy
scared them into monotony.

Even store mannequins 
seem oddly tense
and the women in ads
gaze with hardened eyes.

My love frowns 
when I show him this pain.
My discomfort, clawing, 
crawling up the walls.

He halts.
Stares intensely;
then makes an annoyed suggestion.
like, "maybe you should get out to see more of the city"
or "maybe you aren't thinking openly."

Only I'm not looking for comfort. 
Don't hand me a remedy to please me.   
Just like one, condemning political crimes
isn't happily met with, "maybe you haven't considered 
the *good* things the government does."

What he sees as being ungrateful,
is the everyday groan in the soil
when a seedling breaks free 
from its cloistered shell.

Extending a morsel of human nature,
raw, still twitching emotion,
He's sad to see that it's bloody
when I open my fist to show him.

Look, lover:
Can you see that my way of reacting
nurtures my soul with beloved poignancy?
and that your way of reacting,
(disappointed at my state of being),
feels like a misunderstanding
over and over again.

If you can understand this,
then you won't be upset next time I see you,
or accuse me of spilling evil feelings online.
Instead you will have touched a shade of light
that's been hidden deep inside me.
You will come to a reckoning 
of how my soul moves in the wind. 

The End

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