Getting Under the Skin

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

We all need something or someone at some time in our lives, but asking for help is not always easy; sometimes, pride gets in the way or we may well be at such a low ebb that we cannot get the words out.

There is no shame in asking for help; the first step is acknowledging to ourselves that we need it while the next (sometimes the hardest) is finding someone we know well and can trust to listen without judging us or simply telling us what they would do in our situation. I, for on, always avoid giving advice but will always offer various options and alternatives tailored to my knowledge of the person. Where the listener can offer practical help that is always, of course, as good a place to start as any.

Failing at the second step is invariably down to the inability of many if not most people to use their knowledge of a person to be able to offer constructive advice. We are individuals, all different; telling someone what we would do in their situation is rarely much help.

The listener is the greater source of inspiration because any advice forthcoming will be based on what he or she has heard; heard us out, encouraging us now and then by all means, but not interrupting or prompting along lines we think the other person is trying to say,

Need is not always obvious; too often, it is left to fester simply because there are none so deaf as will not hear. Where the listeners of this world are a rare breed, the friend who listens is a friend indeed.

This poem is a kenning.

GETTING UNDER THE SKIN 

I haunt the human spirit

as an alley cat might its territory,

fight off every challenge

until grown weary with battles,

ready to admit defeat,

yet without (quite) conceding

surrender of the kind

that sheds dignity like a second skin

for caving in to despair

I worry the human mind

as a dog might a flock of sheep

that knows no better,

simply goes with basic instinct,

chancing life and limb

to the farmer that will shoot

on sight, worth the risk,

beats gnawing away at an old bone

just because it’s there

I taunt the human heart

where expectation often misled

by parental satisfaction,

peer-led competition, egged on

by target-centred education…

chalices passed from generation

to generation, mistakes

coursing its veins like a slow poison

too often left untreated

Call me poor, inarticulate Need;

on life’s leftovers, I feed …

Copyright R. N. Taber 2016