I couldn’t accept the present you

I couldn’t see that you were a gift

I kept seeing what you could’ve been

That was my gravest sin

I was blind to the beauty before me

So I got out my toolbox

And tried to make out

Something to tickle my fancy

You never stood a chance

For You were up against

The image I had in my head

In “making” I marred you

In “building” I barred you

From seeing that you were just right

My fault is that I got my fix

From seeing brokenness where it did not exist

And giving help unsolicited

The necklace I gave you

Turned out to be a noose

And those bracelets

Turned out to be briers

I have to brace myself

For the news

That you want to break loose

from me,

I didn’t know that holding you close

Was tantamount

To holding you hostage

Fixation: an obsessive or unhealthy preoccupation or attachment.

The rationale behind this poem: I am a recovering Bob-the-builder. That means, I have recently learnt that it is not my place to “fix” people. As Ella Yelich O’Connor (Lorde) says in her song “The Path”

Saviour is not me

Lorde, The Path

When I would perceive someone as having a problem, I would find myself wondering how I was going to fix them or transform them. The fact of the matter is that we should give people autonomy. We need to give them room to be who they are and if we cannot stomach them being their authentic selves we should leave them be. If my continued presence is contingent on them “shaping up” I need to be the one to “ship out.”

Sticking around for potential could potentially hurt you, as well as hurting the other person.

I am hoping you got the play on words in the title, I was fixated on fixing people.