National Poetry Month 2020 Day 30: “If--” & “How Could We be Friends?”

It’s the last day of National Poetry Month, and it has meant a lot to me to share some of my favorite poems
here and also some vulnerable works of my own. I don’t think I can tie a neat bow around the experience,
but I  wish instead to continue to share and create.

So for today, I’m passing along a piece by Rudyard Kipling that I find quite inspiring (I just ignore the gendered
language of the final lines), and a rough draft by me reflecting a personal struggle. Through poetry, we can grapple with complexity and come up with new wisdom. 

If--

by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,

And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;

If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss;

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And--which is more--you’ll be a Man, my son!

How Could We Be Friends?

by Blythe Stephens

Even if I could forgive you--have, at last, forgiven you--

How could I befriend someone I don’t trust?

How could you flaunt that ugly relationship,

The fruit of your betrayal?

Why would I stay close to someone who slandered me, 

threw me under the bus to make herself look better while being despicable?

When have I gone out of my way to maintain contact with someone repellent,

someone whose habits I find disgusting?

What kind of apology is “I’m sorry if I said that, I’m sorry I ended our relationship

Like that,” anyway?

How can you properly say you’re sorry when you don’t remember what you said, 

And don’t regret your actions anyhow?

What good do vague apologies, words empty of substance,

Do for me?

Why would I want to talk to you, 

to continue any sort of relationship?

How come I am still tempted to engage with you,

Even when you’ve proven yourself to be toxic?

When will our memories together, and your subsequent

Actions and lies, cease to haunt me?