focus inward

 

The Loveless Shrink In Stink

 

 

Never underestimate how much you fail

to love yourself for things

you said or didn’t say,

or did or didn’t do.

 

It’s all too easy to mistake

humility as being

the cannibalistic, suicidal,

deprecating lack of love for self.

 

And still we wonder

why we have grown

into stunted, twisted,

also-rans.

 

A flower questions not the sun,

but stretches t'wards it

in all the splendor

it musters as reward.

 

We,

the souled people,

question love at every breath

and turn away from it in fear,

in spite, in playing small.

 

We seek to hide in shade

and stink and anonymity.

 

What does recognition,

success, warmth, friendship, laughter

feel like?

 

How does it smell?

 

Only when we buy into

the lies about them all,

do we seek refuge from them

 

on mountainous city dumps

 

on muggy summer noons.

 

be still and know .  .  .