I was the object of your affection,
Useful for a time;
Lost in the ritual of loving
The man I thought you were.
How much of me did I give you
In the gardens that tumbled over the wall?
In the home that was your castle
Where the inner layers of my being
Lay exposed, vulnerable and imperfect?
You took all that filled your own need
And left me devalued in humiliating silence
While you manipulated your scraps of power.
Your love was the fantasy of possessing
All that gives your existence meaning;
Your illusions trampled the passion
Tenderness and trust that was yours alone.
With what do you fill the hollow inner spaces
Of your being? Hiding behind the mask of greed;
Unwilling or unable to grasp the anguish
Of those who bear the consequence
Of your flawed decisions.
Those who have no choice; the victims
That get in the way of your eagerness
To continue your dance
With the harlots of commerce.
And I am alone,
With the whispers of deprivation and denial.
Processing the pain of what I am
Who I was and what I might become
Between the no longer and the not yet,
Can I run fast enough to be me again
In this world where the mirage of being
Becomes ever more elusive?