naivete has always played a funny roleshifting from blessing to curse, for the better or for the worseexisting on her own selfish terms
got into my seat, took on the highs and lows
the same way that we all go
moribund,
I’m just like what one of the Bronte’s said –
I once dreamt that there were nails in my forearms,
I never wanted to write bitterly about you.
when you agonized over bed sheets and bedpans,
I always walk into social settings not knowing the right way to smile.
you drink from your tall glasses, a toast to lives you barely touched.
blinded and uncomfortable,
once by lies and fear, now decrepit
I think of you on days the odor of water makes me dry-heave.