Bad Birthday

I would celebrate the day,
enjoy the spoils of my work,
receive abundance of blessings

but guilt showed up, floated in
wearing a sexy red overcoat,
and I couldn’t turn her away.

Camouflaged by fiery passion,
she tried to force feed me pearls
of wisdom, passed her gems

like bestowing an inheritance;
I choked, then resisted, invited
paranoia to join the party fray;

ducked accusations of treachery,
projectiles of blame targeting
unwitting intentions – employed

only to serve – was villainized
when I refused to take part,
openly defied her nonsensical

attacks, realized that dubious
mismanagement makes a poor
companion; guides my tainted

conscience with manipulation,
marries me to scrambled ideals,
births chirping perfection, (talent

undeniable), I am hopeful till
guilt chimes in, catching me off-
guard, forcefully convincing;

appealing to a death wish;
suspicion arrives, interrogates,
deflects responsibility, denies

truth – how did it all turn out
so wrong, this day that was
meant to celebrate my birth?

 

Published by

VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.