Second

June 18, 2009

 

I stored my pride

Away. Placing it deep

Within the empty space

Where your voice now

Echoes.

 

I look in the mirror

And don’t recognize who

I see there.  Rather than a person

Of action, I see the flat eyes

Of a fool who waits.

Surviving on hope and

Fantasies of a future that

May or may not come to pass.

 

My stomach burns with

Images of the present and

Memories of the past

At war with myself but

Powerless to draw the line

And step away.

 

Questions drum in my head

Incessant, forceful, often angry

Conversations with my best self

And my worst self…neither able

To reach a satisfactory conclusion.

 

Knowing as I accept less for

Myself, I deserve less. 

Because I am ridiculous in

My love, my passion, for you

Waiting, waiting

As you give your love to another.

 

Intermittent reward has become

All there is.  The rest is empty.

I have chosen this path.

No other may take responsibility

For the torment and tyranny of

My intellect.  For ignorance

Is sweet bliss.  It would be better

To not know what a fool

I am for loving you.

 

At my weakest I wonder

What it is about me

That has failed to earn your love.

A love that would walk through

Fire and put the classics to shame.

Then, I realize that in taking

Second…

I have not presented

Myself as a woman

Who is worth

Magnificent, consuming,

Committed love.

 

Who would choose a woman

Who has not chosen herself?

 

© 2015 by Camille Booth