On Christmas past

The Christmas lights on my tree

            twinkle, unnecessarily. 

Its all I have kept of tradition

You never put me right

Maybe you tried  

Maybe you loved me

But that’s not enough

Your love can’t cover up your abuse
I’m not a little child. But I’m still vulnerable 

I admit it.  I’m at accepting 

I can’t live for you
I’m not sorry.  

You wanted me to carry you

Like a pointless backpack of rocks

like a bucket of shit  

sloshing on top of my head

I was your surefooted mule

I took pride in how much I could carry

For you

I’ve put it down 

The bible, the apologizing, the pride,  shame,

And now – the fear and bucket of hate.

I’ve given up being the ass
Its no longer my surprise

I’m not passing it on or boxing it up

Or hiding it in the basement

Wrapped tight for later
You fucked up

You 

fucked 

up

you carry it

  

 

Am I Good enough

Sometimes I think I am wasting my life and am suck ass loser
Who should dig a hole and lie in it until the wind covers me with dirt
Sometimes the inner critic gets so loud and hurtful I can’t do anything but listen as she cuts me into bits of flesh and failure

After a while she shuts up and then I can put myself back together and finish another line