Excuses flow like drool from my lips,
Avoiding this, avoiding that, the traps
Are omnipresent, emphasizing slips.
I'm way too old to feel like this, I know
(I have to grin at times at my expense).
I'm like some loser on an Oprah show
Who has no life and can't help feeling tense.
She thrives on my abject servility,
It evens up the score, I guess, for hurts
That were not mine, though I am of their breed,
And happen to possess a thing that squirts.
Confusion reigns, I've given up on thought,
Resigned my soul to be by beauty bought.
"Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does.
Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up."
JAMES BALDWIN
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