I give too much to everyone else,                                                            ­                    
                                                                ­                                                  
I don't save anything for myself                                                           ­                           
                                     ­                                                                 ­                  
so, I end up empty as a
shell                                                            ­                
                                                                ­                                            
resenting the takers & myself as
well                                                             ­         
                                                                ­                                                        
I open my mouth the words come
out,                                                             ­       
                                                         ­                                                                 ­
  I need to please, what's that
  about?                                                        ­                    
                                                                ­                                              
When the time comes to do the
deed,                                                            ­    
                                                            ­                                                            
  I'm overwhelmed if I don't meet their
needs                                                  
         ­                                                                 ­                                      
  Why can't I take, why can't I
receive?                                                         ­       
                                                         ­                                                       
Why can't I feel a little
greed?                                                           ­                   
                                                                ­                                                        
I have wants, I have
needs                                                            ­                      
                                                                ­                                                  
Sure there's a reason deep down inside                                                           ­         
                                                       ­                                                         
  some under lying purpose of why I,                                                               ­                                                      
                                                                ­                                                
don't feel I deserve the pleasure                                                         ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                    
of someone who treats me better                                                           ­                                                 
                                                                ­                                            
Maybe I just need to be
needed,                                                          ­        
                                                                ­                                                
that's why the cycle keeps being repeated

I wish I could go back in time and make myself more important to you.

Rain needles the windowpane, soft and cruel,
a silver net cast over the world's slow breath.
Inside, I cradle heat-
dark and bitter as memory-
in a chipped mug that knows my hands.

The throw blanket clings like a second skin,
threadbare, trusted, steeped in the scent
of long hours and quiet survival.
At my feet, the slow thud of his sigh-
my great beast of comfort, fur soaked in dreams.

Outside, the world drowns in its own grey hush.
Inside, I sip the storm away-
one steaming mouthful at a time.

Love is always so fickle,
Itself only as strong as our commitments.

Oftentimes, we seek a level
Which is non-commiserate
To that which we offer.

We often feel ourselves
To be what's most important.
Pushing & pushing.

Until that day
In which the push is away.
Distance becomes
Only that which we are close with.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am weathered. I am worn.
I am stuffed with seeping sadness, and stewed in sticky, seething scorn.

I am deflated. Thoughts debunked.
And I am drowned in desperate dread.  
When I soak my roots in water, I find it dries them out instead.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am wilted. I am worn.