I look down on the fools who dare to love me.
I look up to the dead for ways to live.
Since I can’t read minds, friends don’t think well of me.
Since my heart’s pawned, there’s nothing there to give.
Yesterday’s “Not a chance!” is today’s go-to.
Remembered slights are poison in my cup.
I feel rejected by what I said no to.
I feel abandoned by what I gave up.
I carry so much that I’ll never need.
I’ll leave behind much more that is undone.
Is hope the curse I dine on or I feed?
Is love the finish or the race I run?
Is life the hidden prospect or the mask?
And who am I—and who am I—to ask?
Copyright 2017 Matthew J Wells