Vice

Found my self in solitude,

‘twas unavoidable,

there was nothing discrete about the way my heels met concrete in those shoes,

still small voice keeps telling me not to look back,

so I searched past the cracks in the pavement,

happened upon a bush laden with lavender,

took a bloom and set it under my tongue,

bitter like tree sap,

acrid and dry, but of course fragrant,

less than foul, but definitively flagrant,

oh but I had been looking back,

not a fortnight, though, a day,

had to remind myself how to forgive,

and why I choose that path instead of the strychnine laden one that goes through hate,

because, my dear, I said I was love,

I set out with this in mind… to be unconditionally kind,

and when you use me, when you call me names, when you steal my gifts,

you’re not removing anything from me,

that’s right, I’m complete,

and you could compete,

but you lack faith,

you would pray for the breadth of character that might allow you to transcend the who that you were,

unable to find it, you would grovel and grope at the ground seeking sight,

the way those witches did when Perseus took their precious ocular vessel and cast it in the dust,

open your eyes my love, breathe and stare,

crisp, cool air plays chimes near window sills,

raps on reeds and dances in swirls of lost leaves of the deciduous variety,

know you not your own name?

I can only hope this is not in vain,

I can sit and wish that you get through the pain,

realize that you’re cared for,

that there is nothing that should retain a concern or fear,

because provision is waiting yet,

as flowers they never fret,

so you too have not gone without,

pray tell, are you really this devout?

hold fast, eyes forward, chest heavy but carried onward,

your eyes betray you, I can see what you did in them,

if you look back at mine, you’ll find understanding,

and though I was hurt, though I cried at your behest,

I will pour me down, like ambrosia, or maple syrup,

they may knock me down, but I will always get up.

 

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