A Past December

Why didn’t you tell me
that I would never be enough.
That no matter what I did or gave
or how much I turned myself inside out
It wouldn’t satisfy you
anymore than numbers one and two,
or three or four or many more...
Why didn’t you tell me?

If I’d only been willing to remember,
and not try to hopscotch myself into the future
on stones of imaginary hope that you had changed,
I wouldn’t have been so broadsided by who and what you are.
I have to accept responsibility for burying my head
in the sands of denial and believing you were different.
That was preposterous of me really

You must have seen me on a daily basis as such a fool,
so easily deceived as I swallowed your lies
like a spoon fed comfort food
never questioning what lay just a layer deeper,
hidden from view...
You smiled and I believed.

How could I have forgotten so quickly
How you could plunge the knife
and extract it, letting the psyche heal with time’s forgetfulness.
Only to be torn again and again with the same weapon
and the same intent.

Why wasn’t I willing to remember
The pain and the cold of our past December?

Reviews

[J. Hampton]

there is more anguish in looking back on denial of being ecieved....
than the deceiption itself...

"If I'd only been willing to remember,
and not try to hopscotch myself into the future
on stones of imaginary hope that you had changed,
I wouldn't have been so broadsided by who and what you are.
I have to accept responsibility for burying my head
in the sands of denial and believing you were different.
That was preposterous of me really "

~~~ well penned account of self denial an battery

Blessssssssssss

[lady o]

moving with depth like a fast river of sadness... rich wording and flowing throughout the piece as the lines draw you down in the richness of your wording.... delightful read, and a really great write, wonderful writing...
I delight in this one....