affection

Above my head is a dead grey sky

where a flight of rolling clouds blanket my sight -

or might I yet hope to perceive abundant

sunlight shining from my very own orb?

My store of inner confidence dribbles away,

as I play the same repetitive game, of searching

each perch in the matrimonial market for a loveable

other half of what they see as ‘Me’.

I'm a freak oddity whose body and mind I'm not

to find reeled off from a production line;

signed up with the nonconformist tribe,

inscribe our names on cards for separate tables.

I'm quite unfit for marital estate -

to walk alone is possibly my fate.