The Drunk and the Catalyst

Hello gutter.
My best is not good enough.
Sincerity and skill were applied,
deliberately, smoothly, carefully,
in a timely manner.
All the right ingredients.
My experience utilized,
even thriving, flourishing.
and yet, rejection.
Something else is going on,
something irrational,
unspoken, hiding, unfair,
unearned, undeserved,
yet in control.
And I am not.
Now I know
why you drank.


The catalyst.
She gave the children candy,
smiles, hugs, giggles.
Their mother stood by, at first watching,
reluctant to deprive her children
of another generation of affection,
support for their development.
Yet moderation failed to appear.
The watcher stepped up,
became the bad guy,
removing the treats from little hands,
lowering small feet to make contact with the floor,
steering small bodies to the dinner table,
watching the clock for bath and bedtime,
insisting they sleep in their own beds,
not with the old one,
who gave and took,
as much as she could.


I am not what I thought myself to be.
Shining light down on,
through me,
Illuminating those inner caverns
of the soul,
analyzing my own behavior,
scrutinizing my actions,
All done so well,
so thoroughly,
so I thought for years,
until I reached the bones,
and found ugly,
not so nice.
An unwillingness to be generous,
to eliminate suffering, sometimes,
to hold a grudge
to be unforgiving.
Yes, some of that,
but also finding within, at times,
my bones to be
fairly decent.