The world is flat and so is my ability to love you.
I would rather watch you fall off the edge of the earth than see you again or speak to you about your day.
I am done carrying your problems on my shoulders.
They are burdens of your love.
They are not your love and should not be mistaken for love.
Yet, in the name of love they are parceled out so you may attain the greatest amount of emotional assistance without any commitment.
My love is not reciprocated.
Let’s be honest and see your affection for what it is:
Something to be taken away on a whim.
You’ve given me nothing but flakes.
Scraps thrown to the floor at the dinner table that is your life.
I have remained nameless to your people since the beginning.
I remain anonymous now.
I am a poltergeist with no face.
I haunt your tent but you breath no life into me, give me no place by your fire.
You were ashamed.
Afraid of being found out for loving me.
You feared being cast out.
You were afraid to be honest with yourself and your people.
You still are.
You shun me instead.
Cast me out to dead man the boundaries of your world but never come in from the cold.
Let’s be honest, your best intentions were never enough.
They were full of holes and I was blind.
I was never much of a weaver.
I was always a blunt instrument of passion, a sounding stone, a kettle left alone too long on the coals.
I was a convenience of a time and place that have passed away.
Water through your fingers.
Just the facts remain,
My name is not Joseph, Mary.