Revisions of Me

Here Lies Me

This ends me, here begins you.

I'm vulnerable to applause, to smiles, to minutes, hours, and days of regard.

Bad habits like old knives used as impractical tools. Always cutting me up when I'm bleeding already from ignorance of true intentions.

I get it. I only have so many things. So much worth in a smile, in a joke, in a kindness.

I too am the florist and the garden. Trembling from my exhausted offerings and broken, missing pieces and the man with calculating eyes looking still yet for that hidden rose. I see the irony, and hold no thorns, but simply dissatisfaction.

I have no gold. Just a treasure of thoughts and enough change for sandwiches on a blanket parked on grass.

I struggle to be fair to myself and others. Bartering is a symptom I discover of being asked too much already. I'd give to the bone for love, but instead lose fingers and toes to disregard.

Mindless platitudes offered like a salve. Might as well be, "Thank You. Have a Nice Day". At least that's sometimes offered sincerely. Comically, I should say, "and may God be with you" as a reply. Gibberish for gibberish, an eye for an eye.

Here lies you, better than us two. Leaving you behind so I can find me.