I detest very little more,
than an illogical bleating,
of words spat out, foul, and needing-
of validaton. The last word.
Unless it turns out to be
the wound scratched open and bleeding,
that now needs a quick fix healing;
and the scabbed ignorant will not
leave it alone. They want to talk ‘feelings’.
They self mutilate, self destruct
and then fall at my feet, and show me
they want to pick and peel some more.
I should have been gentler. That I was wrong?
I was cruel and unkind. What did they expect to find?
Cookies and milk and wound dressings made with love?
After all this time, why do they not see?
My opinion is the only one that matters to me.
My self preservation. My calculated division.
My heart and mind, tortured, but in tact.
So if its sympathy you want, or an apology?