On The Edge


Ducking down to avoid the rage

meant for them but thrown at me

I SIT ON THE EDGE.

hiding behind fancy poems or

unfinished prose to escape

pointless conversation

I SIT ON THE EDGE.

watching you suffer,

my heart breaks in silence

my hand is refused

my love cannot cure

my words salt your wounds

I SIT ON THE EDGE.

you see my smiles as a betrayal

of your tormented soul,

comfortable

in the company of its demons

you turn away from the hurt in my eyes

you mute your ears to the love in my words

you stay skillfully just out of reach

I SIT ON THE EDGE.

you tell me I’m just

a mindless fool

but I just won’t step

in your bullshit

you see my hope

as blissful ignorance

denial of the inevitable

refusal to bow

to defeat

you forget our strength

you forget what connects us

you forget what connects us

you forget what will always connect us

I SIT ON THE EDGE.

I sit on the edge

of who I am, wondering:

should I jump into

that festering pool

of hopelessness

just to keep you company?

© 2006 Rhonda Lee Richoux (to my love EJK and his Post-Katrina depression)

Published by Rhonda Lee Richoux

I am retired from the public school system. I create magic wands and spells, write mediocre poetry and the occasional freelance magazine article; research local history and family genealogy; I’m an activist and keep in touch with friends, family and archenemies on Facebook, Twitter, What’s App and Word Press. I'm a Fiipina-Cajun troublemaker and trickster. I'm feeling as invincible as Keith Richards these days. Fuck is my favorite word.

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