More than a Fight by Jeremy Blackwater


It was a fight,

Not a discussion.

We wanted to tear

Each other down.


I was right.

She didn’t listen.

She wants her way.

She wants to win.


I left

It didn’t take long

To turn it back

On me.


I hate fighting.

I hate mean words.

I hate demanding my own way

I hate posturing.


I walk for hours

Not able to reason

Until I give up

Wanting to be right.


We talk the next day.

Both of us sorry.

Neither of us wanting

To return to easy acceptance.


We talk of deep things.

Of listening beyond words,

Of seeing beyond fears

Of belonging without demands.


We both want maybe too much.

We want to be loved

For our best

Not our meanness.

After an uncertain truce

I sit under a tree

Trying to understand

Being torn apart and put back


I remember seeing a pot

Being burned in a kiln.

I held my breath.

Will it break or hold?


This is still my question.

Will I break into pieces

Not wanting to look deep?

Or will I hold my shape?


Does it have to be a fight

That makes me think?

Does it take violence

To shake off old ways?


We vow to not fight

But maybe that is wrong.

I still need fire

To burn out impurities.


I think of the many times

I have been shaken

Awake from something ugly

Forced to grow into something better.


It’s always a kind of violence,

A closing off of what

I thought important

To birth something new.


It doesn’t have to be physical

Or mean words

Or ugly accusations

But something has to die.


When something new wants to be born.



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