Saturday, April 21, 2018

Ordinary

You have a gift
but it's not what you think.

It isn't the talent
in your hands
or your mind
that makes you unique. 

It is your ego,
your bravado
and all the ways
you shut out the voices
who try 
to make you better. 

If only you would listen,
your myopic vision
could expand
beyond the horizon
of desperation
you have set.

But perfection
can't be improved.
You aren't a first draft,
you're the printed copy.

Don't we all see
it's us, 
not you, right?

How many more 
will you go through
before you see
you are the only variable
connecting everyone?

I smile as you move on
to another
and then another
because the truth is
even your insecurity
isn't original.


Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Hypocrite

You slam everyone 
who stands by 
and acts as an observer 
to the wreck you've made 
of your life,
like rubberneckers 
on a highway 
passing a four-car pile-up 
as if you have always 
taken part 
in the lives 
around you. 

Where were you 

when it all fell apart 
for me 
and I begged you 
to just spend 
a minute in it with me?

You were sitting 

judge and jury 
like you understood 
my pain and fury — 
something you still don’t get — 
not yet. 

I hope you never do. 


You watched 

my world 
collapse 
and then wondered 
why I was mad 
you never came around. 

I always had to come to you, 

no matter what 
I was going through — 
drive across town, 
fly across country, 
make it happen 
even when I didn’t want to. 

It’s always about you — 

who did you wrong, 
who did you right, 
who you wish would do you again, 
your dreams you chase, 
the goals you make, 
the life you are or aren’t living. 

I have stood by, 

silent all these years, 
supporting and forging
my way forward,
waiting for you to get it, 
to see I am here 
as your friend and equal,
not your cheerleader or servant. 

But you don’t get it. 

Maybe you never will. 

So, you’re right — 

fuck the spectators.