The Straw Man

 

I don't know who to say sorry to! 

Sorry, My Love, for being enough of me, 

  that within that paradigm, 

I don't deserve the honey of your lips, 

 for it is wrath that equips instead. 

I am sorry, Sweet Ari, for putting you here, where your feelings will go on struggling to be heard; 

Where your patience is taken for granted, 

  and words are slanted to have you believe 

That THIS is what you deserve litttle child, 

 for no body deserves this at all. 

I am sorry Mother, for falling so unfathomably short in my raging anger at your handicap and mental disease- sorry I raged so, even if it was valid, and you... how I would replace your Narcissism in those that would profess to love me- 

I raged because it all felt so hollow, when I was left all alone to fend...even through the bend of your will and motherhood...

Which now...I have much more come to peace with, wounds still healing and all. 

I am sorry world, for I must be some form of ugly, to be so damned. I still do not understand, 

After all this time, 

Except that

The fault is mine. 

Love, in this world mine, 

  A Chopping Block. 

Love in this world mine, 

  a prison of conditions and advantages 

 at my expense. 

Love is a word they all use, 

  but do not understand. 

I would go on as a straw man. 

  

I'm just not sure it was ever me, they loved...

   But My Straw Man, instead. 

I am hollow from the pockets, of mine given up. 

Hollow from the taking. 

If it was love, shouldn't I be filled up, 

  rather than this constant quaking? 

  rather than drained and aching?