Everybody thinks they know.
There must be something.
Try it this way.
Say it that way.
They’ll respond to this.
They’ll respond to that.
“Just give it time.”
Sooner or later they’ll come around.
Just don’t give up. You can never give up.
Don’t give up?
Who the fuck do you think you are?
What the hell does that even mean?
No matter what I do. Anywhere, anytime,
They are in my thoughts constantly.
I’ve reached out, so many times, and been slapped down, again, and again.
I have a right to survive as well.
If you want to offer me help, and support,
An ear to listen, then fine.
But don’t pretend to know. Don’t speak of that of which you have no experience,
Give me a hug,
But not your fucking blind ignorant hope.
My hope is chiseled. Focused.
Doled out deliberately in small doses,
for where I think it might be most effective.
At times, even after all these years,
It slips away from me,
And I find myself, against my better judgement, hoping with reckless and wild abandon.
Till I reign it in
Knowing that that way sadness lies.
I have hope, a goddamned motherlode of hope.
But I will not squander it foolishly.
It will be tempered.
It must be tempered.
Forged, and made strong in the furnace of my heart,
Able to withstand,
The time, and the journey,
No matter what the cost.
I understand never, oh yes,
from too many angles,
So don’t give me your platitudes,
Give me your shoulder, and perhaps a smile,
In the darkest times hold me,
But don’t placate me.
I know of what I speak, from the depth and breadth of my being.
Respect that, learn to just listen.