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?
