talk by onativia

half of what I say ends up
strewn across the floor,
making me feel like my life's fading into denial.

exhausted by the other half of what I have to say,
I feel dismayed, can not relate, can not be late,
with deciding and then a…

C R A S H !!!

marred by the violence
that befalls the delicate flower,
through battering, howling winds,
the coldness of the late hour.

She still finds time to give me shelter
but I deny I ever needed it, so I lie
and make it known that I’ve insulted her.

I manage a futile smile
and grow weary from the miles
traveled each day to share half of what I say.

is it the half that's strewn about?
or the half that tires me so?
I dont know, you tell me…

I carry on...

(C) Ray Onativia

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