Poetry – Page 73 – A (wise) man of two faces

Stoic

Behind this stone mask,
can you see all of the tears
which I cannot shed?

“It’s never good enough,”
the voices whisper
in sinister symphony.

“Just give up,”
the night sings to me
in the silence between sobs.

Her little black dress
catches all the men’s eyes and
half of the women’s.

I’m thankful to the people
who showed me lessons in this life:
the importance of health and exercise,
temperance in the face of strife.

They taught me I should love myself,
so critical they taught it twice…
Oh, all the people I found wandering
who were living with the price.

Love was cursed for her:
it was a four-letter word
spat by bitter men.

You never loved me
and I knew it all along –
your heart’s another’s.

Oh Father,
make me into
a cold, unfeeling stone
so that nothing in the world can
break me.

Silver moon rises
piercing the inky darkness
of my wounded heart.

I wish the storm would blow through
and wipe the stale gray skies clean
with a great deluge of blue
both terrible and serene.

To all the people
saying I’m not good enough:
goodbye and good luck.