Blacked Out Part 11: When Love is Conditional

Decades of battle

Have left me a legacy of feeling small.

I’m only asked to show up when you fall.

A holster for your pain

It’s slung at me, trashed in my face:

Whose the Abel to this Cain.

An ocean of wails,

labeled evil in a projected ruse to boost your confidence,

I was bred to internalize incompetence.

My pain has a heartbeat but no home-

Numb with longing, an incessant prickling of still alone

No holster to shelter it, lightening isn’t always grounded.

Unleashed like a bullet, I saw my Anger melt into Grief when pounded.

Do I still stand behind your shadow-

How do you reconcile with my insides hallowed.

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