With grace
I see you pace
throughout the corridor,
concern lavished upon your face.
But it always comes back to me
and I get curious, what is it in you
that I see? That draws you to me?
At the end I understand it’s my
desperation
But in the beginning it feels like
magical procession.
It’s insights like these, I’d rather keep to myself,
frustrations rooted in
lack of respect for self,
kinder words for the reality-
a putrid, decaying necessity
of external validation,
your hands on me,
telling me everything’s ok.