being called insecure
or insecurity? Told I am
so irresponsible or
genuine irresponsibility?
Was I just a drifting leaf,
aimless, meaningless,
blank slate of dried stuff,
till my traits dictated?
Or was I always this mess,
selfish and haphazard and
inconsiderate inside?
Which came first
the lies or being called
a liar? The fears or
the exasperated sighs
and low clucks of disapproval?
Which came first my laziness,
rotton and decayed
and inert, or giving up
on trying just to be greeted with
"You are just a lazy little girl.
a indignant brat."
Which came first?
Was it my empty heart
and hallow shell, brittle
and translucent like
a lobster exoskeleton
thrown out behind
the restaurant, loose
next to the dumpster or
was it all the times I heard
I was just trash without a home?
I suppose it doesn't matter which came first.
If I am myself or just all the things
others told me I am because
Even if I wasn't it before, I am now.
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