I don’t believe that everyone is entitled to the information and details of our lives. In fact, I don’t think anyone is entitled to it but that it is our job to voice, honestly, when a question crosses our boundaries rather than lying our way through it.
I spent two hours in the dining room as my father was working and socializing. Every time the room was clear again, he would voice how the story he told them hadn’t matched the truth and how he really feels.
The thing is, I’ve spent a lot of time being dishonest, wearing different masks around different people. I see why you’re so tired. This act you’re putting on, it’s hurting you far more than anyone else. I bit my tongue, being in your home, for as long as I could before I erupted over the way there’s only ever talking behind peoples backs when you don’t know the full story, rather than extending compassion.
The thing is, I just want to be able to be around you without it hurting, draining me. I wish you could love yourself, flaws and all, as much as I love you.
Inconsistent
I see your inconsistencies
when others are watching.
Your story changes
every time a back turns.
I trust you
are inconsistent with me, too.
The way you switch your words,
who knows what’s true,
what’s really you.
Not me.
Never fully.
Much love, until next time.
Madeline May I... 