Criticism

Don't hate me
for fulfilling your expectations of my failure.
I am obedient, eager to please.
My self-hatred basks in your revulsion.
I burrow for your disapproval
like an infant roots for the mammary.
Negative energy stokes my engine of laziness and inhibition.
Shrouded in procrastination and paralysis,
I hide under your laden table,
picking crumbs of judgment and derision from the carpet.
Do not step on my fingers;
I use them to spin yarns and knit tales
of despicable adoration and nihilistic ritual.

Sting me again;
there is one spot on my shoulder
not yet swollen by your venom.

 

(c)2008 Lucie Raposo - All rights reserved (republished 2022)