A Sorry State

Stubbornly, I follow
my desires and motivations
over the edge,  humbly
my sorry limitations.

Calling home, hoping
for a sensible response –
reliable, clear-headed –
(I should know better –
no one like that exists
where I come from).

Miss Vanity and Ms. Martyr
come to the rescue, with
Perfect baby, Spirited baby
and the Despondent One
in tow, along with
adolescent Asperger,
awkwardly incapable
of social intercourse.

Doubtful of their intentions,
certain of their impracticability
and suspicious of neglect
I pull back, angered,
threatening to exert independence;
I don’t need anybody
least of all, you people.

Miss Selfless smiles reassuringly
gesturing for my compliance –
she has everything under control
there is room for everybody –
I climb on board –
surprisingly comforted,
conceding assumptions.

I am embarrassed by my situation,
in need of repair…
Approach cautiously, I warn
it’s a steep state of decline.
My stories, exposed, overlap,
piles of debris cluttering
where hope should dwell.
This is not a place for children,
or the pure of heart.

I feel trapped, but don’t express it.
Ms Forever Up and Miss I’ll Pray For You
smile as if to say:
Don’t worry, Silly,
we’ll clean this up in no time.
And look after the babies?
And look after the babies.

Weariness begs me to surrender,
trust these dubious cons –
too overwhelmed and overcome
to care, resigned to repeat
the drama of the past –
fearing this is my lot.

Dissatisfaction niggles
Don’t give up –
there is more to aspire to
a greater dream to dream
give it time, give it time
and quit driving yourself
beyond the confines
of this current state
of dis-able-ment.