by Glen Martin Fitch
I often hate myself,
despise my life.
I steep in shame.
I won't pick up the phone.
I poke each vice,
like jesting with a knife.
I hide my wounds and
keep myself alone.
I see the lucky ones,
spot those that cheat,
But I've learned things
I'm sure they'll never know.
I forge my soul.
Though strife transcend deceit.
You've greeted me
each time I dared to show.
I'm grateful for
your hands that reached
again and yet again,
though I had slapped them back.
I'm grateful for
your honest sharing,
when I felt unworthy.
Courage I still lack.
I'm grateful for
the failings you reveal,
the peace, the strength,
acceptance,
love I feel.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011