Patterns: prompt

My Predicament

a relationship poem

Photo by Raúl Nájera on Unsplash

Your pattern
was a road map
to a place I didn’t want to go —
warning signs
on every curve
shrouded in
empty expectations.

You hid nothing
and still, I didn’t see —
eyes blind to reality,
emotional repetitions
leaving rhythmic scars
and unbroken jolts.

Feeling steady bumps
like a flattened tire,
intuition on alert,
reverse advised
but plunging forward,
hellbent on destruction.

Because you were not
the road for me —
someone else’s
scenic highway,
my dead-end street,
you were another’s
predictability
and my
predicament.

Humans have patterns. We wash and repeat our behaviors.