Stark Reality

Am I that hard to love? To be treated with some delicacy? Dignity? Joy? Celebrated instead of tolerated? Honored instead of scorned? Can you hear me screaming, pleading, begging behind my plastic smile? Words are like daggers... I thought my shield was Impervious to your slurs and half-joking barbs, that rip at my inequities, as you sit in haughty judgment of me. This isn't love; Silent torture I endure as my silent screams are covered by self deprecating laughter. Pride is frowned on, however narcissism and egoism are celebrated. In an upside down world this is normal... I think you got it backwards, Love makes you feel wanted, needed, dare I say...happy, not aching, burned, lost, scared, scarred or hurt, that's not love that's abuse of a form most base... So I strike out in the only way I know how, with my pen... Half concealed daggers of my own, blindly hoping to hit a mark and make you see... You say my words are beautiful, but I don't think you realize they are loaded daggers filled with poison that you carelessly cast off to me.