To think that this might
find meaning of sorts, a
given value to the dark night
of my soul, to someone.
How long I stayed,
in the futile efforts of being a spirit guide,
a position I was never qualified for.
You now come to me weeping
over the same thing you could not
understand years ago,
as I stood in your doorway, tears
streaming down my face.
I never had comfort. I was alone.
You have me to turn to, and
I hate it.
YOU ARE READING
TO FAIL SO FLAWLESSLY
PoetryEDITS IN PROGRESS: A prose-poetry chapbook exploring themes of insecurity, doubt, lost fabrics, and what it means to fail so flawlessly.
