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.