Why are you still single?
Someday, some rusty old spoon is gonna be looking for me
The old fork I always been
Waiting in the middle of the woods
I am giving up my self-pity and transforming it to sorrow. Sorrow for this planet and its perpetual grief. That is the true cause of my suffering – a shared grief, victimhood, perversion that will not go away. It seems to get stronger.
And when I am angry, alone in my home, I see red faces of old lovers who left me ages ago, left me stranded, manipulated, confused. So long ago, and I still carry these demons. These are the demons of my self-pity, and I need to let them go.
When I find a new comfort, I watch my back.
When I find a new home, I keep it secret.
When I find a new friend, I am afraid they’ll meet the others and learn to think less of me.
They are the remnants of a deep commitment I made, deep cutting commitment that I promised- I planned and prepared and I sacrificed so much for- I promised myself I would hold on and instead I found I had been let go.
Now for me to let go of the whole mess. Not time to dissect the matter, it has been picked apart, it is compartmentalized parts of the thing in labeled boxes neatly taking up space. No need to review all the old hits – why this one left in such a way that bothers me so, and why I didn’t see it coming. Or how this one could have warned me, could have showed me more explicitly that our love wasn’t worth it, or was it? I really don’t know. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Like coming out of a trip and realizing time wasted, that is all I have left to mourn of it all. Resuming the wise sadness of a child who takes it all in and cries for the world and their place in it. I’ll resume my place in the world, I will try not to be too stoned and I will try to get my hands dirty and talk to other people. New people. Not-so-crazy people. Real people whose conversation will follow me in the hour of my reflection – a new structure in place of the old closet for self-pity.
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