Talking to you is just such
A waste of time, yet I keep
On doing it and feel worse
Talking to you is just such
A waste of time, yet I keep
On doing it and feel worse
Compassion needs no
Garnish, for it makes all it
Touches beautiful
I can’t stand myself
Sometimes, so maybe you could
Stand with me awhile
With my left hand I
Tell the stories of my pain
That my right ignores
This web I’ve woven,
Tangled knots, best intentions,
Recriminations,
If I could ignore,
Everything I’ve been before,
Perhaps I’d perform
The way they want me
To. I dance and sing, smiling
All the while, dead.
I am the one who
Cares, not one cared for. I give
To others, they don’t
Give to me. Alone
Is the only time when I am
Of one mind. Relief.
Better plan a quick
Funeral because you are
Fucking dead to me.
My father told me
“From whom much is given much
Is expected in
Return.” Now I see
That’s not how gifts work. That’s how
Bank loans and contracts
Work. Gifts are freely
Given and received, not to
Count the cost. My life.
Can you do better?
What it would cost me, how could
I justify that?
Live with myself when
I’ve caused so much pain to those
I love the most? But
Must I choose between
Expressing my truth, being
My authentic self,
And watching my kids
Raised by someone else? Tension
Is killing me slow.