For Grtanted
Why do you notice
my errors
like you would notice
a red stain
on white satin?
Why are my qualities
as invisible to you
as an atom
to the naked eye?
Half of my features
came from you,
and I am still
as strange to you
as you are to me.
And yet I follow you,
silently pleading
for the scraps
of your attention,
for the slightest
demonstration
of a little bit of love.
You take my presence
for granted
and fake minimal interest
when you need something
in return,
and when I have served
my insignificant purpose
you throw me back
into your forgetfulness,
as I desperately try
to crawl out,
but all is in vane.
All my offerings,
all my sacrifices,
seeking one word
of encouragement
find a thousand
of disappointment.
So I sit surrounded
by trophies and medals
that mock me
because they didn't
serve their purpose.
What must I do
to make you understand
that the commodity
you give me
does not feed
the longing
for your love?
How do I tell you
that each day
that staggers by
drags me further
away from the possibility
to at least be
your acquaintance?
I have tried for years,
I have held on
to that empty hope
that is keeping me alive,
and now
I have grown tired.
Yes, you take
my presence for granted,
so you might as well
take my absence
for granted too.