Old friend, I would visit you
but this compulsive state of
martyrdom delays our reunion;
then you slip my mind.
You wouldn’t recognize me –
this mask I wear, a product
of the toxicity that I play host to,
puts a life on my kind-heartedness
I want to be helpful
but carry a burden of failures –
ghosts from childhood home
that plug my memory
I have hurt so many,
neglected, now lost; family –
these useless ties are shadows
lurking, directing me –
I am sensitive, wanting
to exile the negativity, have been
taught to be considerate, but
cannot erase the inconsistencies
Spend too much time
browsing, delivering a fragment
of the torment that lies within;
am over-involved with self
Really want to be my best
in search of something greater
but today the frustration
is too raw, am at a loss
Old friend, I have reverted back
to dependence, manipulating,
am mentally unstable,
cannot find closure
in all the scattered pieces –
all I have to offer are bit,
disappointing, really – stored
memories that menace
Believe me when I say
I am working hard; want to start
fresh, have a goal in mind,
have not forgotten you
but am running out of
options, frustrated, can’t catch
a break, as the distance
between us widens.
(Chasms first appeared here October, 2106. Image my own)
Most Saturdays I include an audio recording, but this week my voice is not cooperating.
One Woman's Quest 