I fear for the rest.
Undressed and looking at my reflection.
What I see is not prosperity.
What is wrong with me?
If I could trace the marks and scraps Life has left on my flesh, it’d be a maze of inconvenience, miscommunication, and loss.
Self inflicted, just an outer perspective.
I can’t imagine a life without you.
You bring comfort, you lighten the confinement I find myself daily trapped within.
Yet, lately it’s as if the ghost of you has come to haunt me.
Have I killed what was beating so vibrantly yesterday?
I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not.
You bring so much of your own pain, you play games with your head, and the results could be fatal.
Why not be careful?
For someone who has such gratitude towards the chance to breathe.
You act as if you wish someone would just tell you to leave.
You don’t need permission.
Go on do it.
You make your own struggles, you search for rebuttal.
You don’t have it in you to stand alone.
Ironically, I fear I’m just as weak.
I take that long look into the eyes of another.
My sister, my brother.
They see what you seem to project, what has exfoliated from your being.
A mess on the floor.
A mental mess within the walls of your brain.
You take the blame, but I know you don’t mean it.
Contradiction always seeping from your pores.
It’s easier to just call you Whore.
I wish better for you, but I need to save myself.
You would inhale from the vomit that’s come up from your screams.
You will never be clean.
I can’t keep hoping for you to wash.
You will always be this unwilling, stubborn, sloth.
I have to go home.
© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.
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