Why must I search so hard for fault,
as things with us come to a halt?
Choked up like an old boat motor,
weeds entangled in its rotor.
Forgetting what drew me to you,
when smooth sailing was all we knew.
Love, bogged down, reveals itself: harsh.
Hope: sinks — lost — in this murky marsh
of doubt, fear, and uncertainty.
Supplanting what you saw in me;
like weeds I couldn’t stop feeding,
that sapped the true growth I was needing.