It's like a Hopper

painting, sitting on a bench --


next to my father.

I'm fully present,

my body, all my senses --


here, in this garden.

Well, I used to cry,

but I stopped, because no one --


cared, no one at all.

My attention, where

does it go, what do I want --


to see of the world?

I lose last battle
Your attention awarded
To somebody else

A graceful vase
Just flowers with a pretty face
A body made to desire
But bearing fruits too sour to taste
Hot and bright, a burning fire
Sweet words, but a sour liar
Blown glass container filled with hate
And the greed of everyone's desire
Should I stand or should I break?
The center question in her debate

So there the vase stands
Perfect in shape
Up so high above the ground
Waiting for someone to push her
So she can finally fall

And break

The magic sword can't

be pulled free by focusing --


on the mossy stone.

I crave affirmation
I live off of praise
Why do I need this?
Is it my fate?
“You just want attention!”
That’s what I’ve been told again and again…

Maybe they’re right.
Maybe they’re not.
Maybe I just can’t be alone with my thoughts.