Some days are a penance
self-imposed by the choices I made
why didn’t I feed my self-esteem
why didn’t I make it a priority
to fill up on sunshine
instead I chose to slave away the days
thinking it would help some greater good
caught in a vicious corporate web
trying to make ends meet
to secure that my kids eat
keep their warm bellies
wrapped under a roof
I would have been happy
with food love and shelter
had it been me
instead they’re angsty
dissatisfied, negative
always wanting
what they didn’t get

some days feel like maybe I screwed up
when I thought I was protecting them
from harsh conditions like poverty
and the cycle of violence
others look at me like I succeeded
somehow against all odds
yet the kids don’t appreciate what they get
and at best complain about how it wasn’t perfect
or the way they wanted

how do I explain to them
that criticism is a luxury
borne of privilege
most in this world cannot afford
and the cost of gratitude is paid
in having nothing
finding the fullness in every moment
discontent is the byproduct
of a flaccid habit blindly suckered
into believing the solidity
of the appearances of all things

we’re wanderers of this present
chasing mirages

I’m stunned
I’m speechless
with the magnitude of heartbreak
I feel before such indifference
the contempt of dissatisfaction
eats away at me

when did I become
as bitter as this epic fail
in understanding?

with each passing
a nail knocked into my coffin
time
I can’t retrieve but in memory

staying kind is the newest ice bucket challenge
in the face of so much hate
selfies full of hollow eyes
seeking genuine smiles
hungry starved cheeks
looking to breathe in
a word of authenticity
a little bit of goodness
from within
that is still free
the tiny corners
of human contact
that haven’t been marketed
into quid pro quo
smart contracts
yet

when can I get off
the crazy train
created by my brain
and how long will I pay
for all I’ve made
is this self-important
hurt
the guilty party
or is it a byproduct
of my hunger
for meaningful connection?

when is enough enough
when is my life my own
is it when the kids are grown
or when he’s gone and traded
me in for a newer model
or is it when my youth
is a wilted flower
that died silently in the dark
unseen in anonymity

when is the forgiveness coming
and can I find my way back home
to wherever it is I held this me
I thought I was?
when can I live out the treasure
of what little time is left?