Spyte

Posted: April 27, 2010 in My Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

My whole life is a secret.
My clothes hide a multitude of
wounds; some fresh, some scabbed,
some scarred.
Almost every inch of skin,
damaged in some way.

My skin hides the me that no one
wants to know, although some
have made the unfortunate acquaintance.
The me that longs for death
the way most people seek love.

Love doesn’t have any bearing
in my life. It’s just a word,
meaning different things
to different people.
My capacity for love was stunted
early on. Like a plant with
insufficient sunlight, it stayed small
and inconsequential.

I don’t care if anyone loves me
because I don’t love anyone.
I don’t know how to play
that particular game;
as foreign to me as chess.

I walk through life, invisible:
a ghost with no more substance
than a misty exhalation on a
bitter night. Hanging in the frigid air
one moment, then it’s gone.

All my secrets are inside me.
I have no one to tell.
I wouldn’t if I could.
They have a way of turning on you,
fangs bared, the moment they’re released.

I will die with them and
they with me.
The comfortable companions
we’ve always been, we’ll be.

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Comments
  1. Meg says:

    Working on a longer poem, but the I can do at the moment (not much, I know) is another Twitter poem. Sent it to you on there too.

    Untitled
    by Meg LeDuc

    To fear love is to repulse
    The poet of poets,
    Many-winged creature who inhales
    All ugliness, cruelty, and hate,
    And breathes them into beauty.

  2. LOL – thanks again, Meg! I am laughing because about 10 years ago, after a little stint in the psych ward, I did the exact same thing. I decided to write a list of who would care if I was gone. It had my dog’s name, my son’s name, and one of my sister’s names. I ended up having a fight with my son and crossing his name off, then some run in with my sister, and crossing her name off, so the only one left on the list was the dog. It was enough I guess, to know that I mattered to him. I think sometimes pets can be our greatest solace. They ask for nothing but affection and food and give so much love in return. My dogs are my babies, and have kept my hope alive more times than I can count with their sheer joy of life. Every tiny thing makes them happy, from a pat on the head to me walking in the door after a day at work. It’s great to come home to 3 ecstatic dogs. Humans could (and should) learn so much from animals. Thanks for your comments. It’s nice to know that someone “gets” it!

  3. Meg says:

    Once again, I’m just stunned. You’ve expressed so much of what I used to feel and sometimes still do (there is hope for recovery–after years of cutting and burning, times when I hurt myself many times daily, I now cut myself about once every two years. It’s not completely out of my system, but it’s lost so much of its power). But when I cut I used to feel that no one could possibly love me and that the cutting taught me that I was unloveable, which was a very important thing for me to learn because I needed not to expect people to love me. If I expected people to love me, I was sure they wouldn’t and I would get badly hurt. I remember once trying to write down in my journal the names of people who loved me, and the exercise actually scared me! Maybe you should try that exercise. Because you seem like such an insightful, profound, complex, and lovely person, I feel sure there are people who love you in your life. I’m sure Ty loved you. You were so brave to post this. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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