Poetry

There's a soft subtle bruising of my ego
So soft, so slow that I don't notice until it finally hurts
And when I look at myself,
I see the bruises in my eyes, in my smile,
In the crook of my knee
And wonder if anyone else sees

*

I should get angry, but instead I get tired
And feel as though the years are tons
That pile upon my spine to make me creak

I should get angry, but instead I get sad
And wish for something to numb this ache
That would freeze the very soul inside of me

*

Some people earn self-respect by performing acts of good-will
You destroy a home but say you've earned your own respect
Some people earn self-respect by creating joy for the world
You create pain but say you love yourself now
Some people earn self-respect by working hard to keep things together
You let everything fall apart but say you tried to spare us pain

*

I think, if you were any person other than yourself,
I could love you -- but instead I see a selfish fool
Who clutches at his own self-love because no one else respects him
And doesn't understand that he fucked up,
That he hurt everyone that should have mattered
That he is stupid, selfish, blind, and old

I think, if you were anyone but you, I could forgive you
But you aren't, so I am the wrathful, the unforgiving
Who wants you to vanish and fade into the obscurity of the past
Because that's where you belong

To be a grief that we can put on the shelf and forget about
And shake our heads when someone finds it again
And sigh over the barely remembered loss
Because that's where you belong

In case you can't tell, my father showed up at the house on Monday. Unfortunately, my muse only likes for me to compose when I'm angsty. *sighs*