It’s all just excuses,
you’d say.
Sure. Blame me like always.
Like her feelings are an attack
somehow.
Maybe there’s something
you could do,
to acknowledge hurt and pain,
instead of defenses,
show adoration again.
poem-identity March 15, 2015
Hovered over the computer
you groan about how you’ve been screwed up
by school schedules that don’t let you take
the courses you need to graduate.
Something from grade nine,
another from grade ten,
a couple from grade eleven,
how can you fit it in twelve?
School’s fault.
Not your fault, of course.
Never your fault
for not coming to class,
for not doing your work,
for not taking advantage of offers to help
for not being respectful of your peers
for not accepting support,
for not passing the courses.
One or two (or three or four)
missed credits each year.
It’s the school’s fault.
Of course, it is.
Everything is hard for you.
Why?
Why?
Why?
You strike the question,
a damning indictment.
I will tell you,
though you won’t hear:
This is why:
Because you don’t see that
you choose.
You choose
to work.
You choose
to fail.
You choose.
Until you choose
to be responsible
for every choice,
to admit you failed because you chose
not to work,
not to accept help,
not to accept the consequences of
your choices,
life will always
seem unfair.
It’s not life that’s unfair.
It’s you who is refusing
to own your reality.
Accept responsibility for yourself.
What are you afraid of?
Be!
poem-partners March 6, 2015
Sometimes
when your shoe is hurting,
it’s because of the seam
on the sock.
