futile attempts at poetry (2005)

Me,
impregnated,
with guilt,
remorse,
no faith;
no trust.
My baby,
she died,
before,
seeing the world.


They walk,
they see,
they sit,
they stand,
they talk,
they smile,
and Me;
I just look.


Life's perfect.
But others think
It's not perfect for you.
So they begin
to dig in for flaws.
And sure come up
with a whole lot of them.
That makes living
difficult of me.
I'm happy.
But they think
Something's missing;
and keep telling me so.
And then;
In the end,
I'm unhappy,
like them,
About Myself.