Giving Up

This is just one of those
nights, a night
where running away
sounds so good...
the Psalmist said,
“Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away
and be at rest...”
Well, the Psalmist
beat me to the punch,
or, poetically
speaking, to the phrase...
because anything I say after that
will be a repeat...
but whatever.
Oh, gosh, I’ve said that
word so much tonight...
whatever.
“Whatever, I don’t want
to have this conversation.”
I am a coward.
“Whatever,
I’m too tired to keep on
trying when I feel alone and
misunderstood.”
So call me a drama queen,
say I am weak,
say that I’ve changed
and that you miss who I used
to be, and like
the frail and feeble
dribble of self-pity that I am,
I will say whatever,
and give up on you because
I can’t do this anymore.
I once heard someone say that
giving up on someone
is the same
as saying that you’re better
than them...
and that echoes in my
mind as I sway on the edge of this
ledge overhanging
a fall that is defeat, that is
abandon,
and resignation
to the fact that I’ve failed you;
and though you say I'm
forgiven, you can't let me forget
that I've done it.
And I don’t even care anymore.