I don’t care
If you don’t like
What I do,
If it confuses,
Threatens, or angers you.
Your opinion is no longer
Of any consequence to me,
As it regrettably
Used to be.
Things are different now,
I’ve changed.
I’ve grown.
I’m no longer who
I used to be.
I love what I do.
I love me.
Trudging down the stairs,
He barely makes an effort to
Acknowledge my presence
With a frown and grunt.
I feel like something is off,
A palpable aura of menace.
I look at my friend who
Doesn’t seem to notice and
Who bears the scars
To this day.
Another letter arrives, and
With it a reminder of
The unrelated path I’m on.
No longer an unwitting participant
In a skewed game of
Manipulation and belittlement.
The demands of the past
Attempt to weaken my resolve
But fail to succeed.
It doesn’t go as expected,
Not that he had grand ideas
About how things would
Turn out, but it could
Definitely have gone
Better, now dealing with
A disconcerting sense of what
Might have been rather than
What actually resulted and
Must now be assimilated,
There being no other choice.
Trying to make
Sense of it,
No answers forthcoming.
Another mind,
Impossible to decipher
Without help.
Silence,
Absence of
Understanding.
I wish I could assert
How unhappy I am
When I’m around you,
How my throat closes
And my chest hurts
When I think of spending
Any length of time
In your vicinity,
How your presence
Makes me think of
The innumerable times
When I was crushed
With complete disregard,
Laughed at as I lay there,
Screaming for help.
I’d like to say all
These things, but
It will never happen.
Ungracious, unkind, unaware.
Hubris dripping from every pore,
A disproportionate sense of value
Engendered by early deprivation,
A yearning to feel important.
Please tell me how great I am.
I relish every compliment and promise to
Turn it into a creepy exercise,
A child dancing awkwardly
For adulation.
The small try to inflate themselves with
The breath of the compassionate.
A constantly burning engine requiring
More and more fuel to maintain its
Sad vanity.
I wonder what you’re
Doing right now,
Not because I want to
But because it was
Inculcated in me from
Childhood, an obsequious
Subservience coupled
With absolute deference
To feeble monarchs
Handing down flawed edicts,
Intolerant of any dissent
Or individual thought
Lest their mangled innards
Be revealed in all
Their stinking wretchedness.
Of course we didn’t talk about it.
We never do, never have, never will,
Never mind.
A giant question mark that keeps
You from running, jumping, dreaming
Out loud.
Open your precious gilded box,
The one with all the secrets in it,
Carefully arranged, excommunicated.
Look around furtively, someone might
See who you are when you’re not
Ready for visitors.
