Soft sounds, a chuckle, catching in my skull;
Words wash away the weariness.
Nothing artificial, no exaggeration, only
“Because it is you.”
My soul settles. And soars. And stumbles.

I shouldn’t need them, those silly sounds of acceptance.
I should know, should believe those blissfully sweet syllables.
But the bitch won’t release me.
Her jaws impale my awareness;
I’m defeated by her snarling sarcasm.
“Why you? You’re nothing. You’re unworthy of such sentiments.
What have you done to deserve them?”

I yearn to ask, to muzzle the mongrel and put her in her place,
And if I do?
Maybe you’ll answer. Maybe you’ll overlook the insanity that stalks me.
And maybe the monster will settle, for a few moments.

Or maybe you’ll realize how impossible I am,
How unworthy of anything more than your pity.
Maybe, in asking, I will offset the balance
Between desire and disgust.

I grapple with the questions, wanting not to need so much.
Why can’t I accept these wonderful words?
Why can’t I kill the bitch?

Why can’t I conceive that maybe, just maybe, I am worthy?

Questions asked so many times
As before, unanswered.
And the beast triumphs.