LIES WE TELL OURSELVES

R.M. Dolin, July 2024

Lies We Tell Ourselves

A part of me loves my life unconditionally,
even while wanting more.

Part of me lives in hell
yet finds bizarre comfort there.

A part of me willing trades
“this” for “that,”
without knowing “that.”

A part of me knows I lie to myself.

Part of me is forever a
boy. . . a part of me hopes.

A part of me dreams of being wealthy,
but really just doesn’t want to be poor.

Part of me is always singing,
even in the solitude of sadness.

A part of me incessantly wonders,
what would the real Jesus do?

Part of me’s a poet, a writer, and hapless romantic,
a thinker and a cycler, mostly though,
my soul’s chaotically unsettled.

Part of me is only at peace in post-day darkness
when cold wind lulls my bike into a sudden
hairpin curve down a daring descent.

A part of me long ago gave up
yet can’t stop rebuilding.

A quiet part of me closes
his eyes and stops breathing to better see
the world and hear wind’s many secrets.

A part of me craves stillness and calm
even though I never am.

Part of me wonders why while accepting
such answers are never satiated.

A part of me misses the ones I hold dear.

Part of me hesitantly smiles and pretends
as the trepidus train pulls into the station.

A part of me yearns to be that young man who
hikes half a day high into the mountains just to lay
under Aspen while wind rustles through and I forgetfully
fall asleep with sun warming my face.

Part of me believes in the profoundness of morning
and the excitement of all things possible.

A part of me is okay with what happens next,
on some level needs it.

Part of me accepts contrition for not being
ready or worthy to receive Communion.

Part of me is lost not wanting to be found.

A part of me tenaciously listens
as other parts whisper
things I dare not hear.

Part of me needs to suffer
though I don’t know why.

A part of me has been here before, a recursive
kind of hell from which there’s no escape.

Part of me is anxious . . . and scared
but finds the fortitude to stand strong.

A part of me thanks God for his covenant
and this day you allow me to be a part of.

Part of me needs to be alone,
though I yearn for intimacy.

A part of me longs to be loved,
while facing the unfortunate fact
I may never be.

Part of me does not yet know.
the rest of me struggles coming
to terms with what that means.

A part of me stands stoically against
bitter prairie wind rather than
concede it’s too cold to be outside.

Part of me wants a redo,
even if outcomes remain unchanged.

A part of me is fearless, part of me is fearful.
Most of me spends most my time
avoiding these two parts of me.

Part of me believes in happy endings,
which are increasingly hard
in the face of escalating troubles.

A part of me thinks the world still needs cowboys
even though our sun long ago set.

Part of me goes on believing
everything will be okay,
the rest of me struggles to trust that truth.

Part of me lives in tormented pain
from which there’s no escape,
but a still small part believes in love
and that’s my lifeline.

Part of me fears prison as its encroaching
iron of inevitability shrouds me in darkness,
the collateral cost of integrity.

A part of me seeks the strength to look
beyond the window of my darkness
knowing that I must.

Part of me wonders what happened
to the whole that was once greater
than the sum of all these parts.

A part of me knows you know these things. . .have always known.

Background prose for the novel, “The Dangling Conversation.” As life closes in, Kyle has a Mea Culpa moment he shares with Isabelle.