Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

You’re an asshole.
Words muttered out of context, out of line.
A rage-shadowed truth,
but with such unexpected forthrightness,
it missed its mark,
serving only to deepen our divide.
Home is no longer where happy is.
I’m not sure it ever was. 
There’s no abuse hurled or fists weaponized,
and much
— if not all —
is done with the intent of love.
But even so,
my nerves are frayed, and I can take no more.
Three hours pass, 
and I begin counting down the seconds till escape.
Has distance weakened me so?
Have the miles between myself and that tumultuous guilt-laced anger 
made me so fragile and contemptible of thought?
The fatigue enters my very bones from the moment I cross the threshold,
and anxiety-heightened feelings fight their short leash
with new resolve.
Where before I ruled my emotions and responses
with resignation and an iron fist,
I’ve become a feeble-willed sovereign,
allowing them to run amok with freedom previously unexplored.
No part of my reaction 
or unbidden tears 
are based in reason,
no matter the (harmless) judgments passed or words that can’t be rescinded. 
Countless crueler realities play out
near and dear to my heart.
I must be pathetic and wicked,
(for others truly have a cross to bear; I have none)
and I should believe I deserve 
to pay for my disfavor 
in the very blood that runs through us all.
Matthew 15:4:  “For God said, 
‘Honor your father and mother’ 
and 
‘Anyone who curses their father or mother 
is to be put to death.’”
I cannot apologize enough
to erase the stains of my thoughts,
nor can I gather the resolve to twist this on myself
any longer.
I am unworthy of a love such as that which I receive.

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