BY KRISSY BRADY
I glare at her,
this person that is me but older.
I quickly jerk my head away
so weakness hides and I seem bolder.
I scoff at her,
this person that is me but nervous.
I quickly move my hand away
so tapping stops and I have purpose.
I yell at her,
this person that is me but weary.
I quickly wipe my frown away
so effort fades and I start daring.
I talk to her,
this person that is me but dying.
I quickly tear my pride away
so truth prevails and I stop lying.
The constant excuses are like
soapy water twirling down the drain.
I have become deaf and am too lazy to lipread.
Your poor posture makes you transparent;
it matches your words intermingled with subtractions.
Your smile is carved
underneath a permanent frown.
Although you wish for condolences
spread on your toast every morning,
your words have turned to mould.
Write it all in a letter.
Iíll supply the paper.
Give yourself the gift of a lighter mind.