*****

Recorded Reading (1:09): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/r325rdnwh29zptzwjlnwh/It-is-Ourselves-We-Miss.mp3?rlkey=rzdsiw2a9nnmx6t0thzck3g5w&st=dv2nrq21&dl=0

*****

It is Ourselves We Miss

How often do we disrespect the word!
We say what we think others wish to hear
Not pausing to remember once ’tis heard
Unto ourselves we have been insincere

What harm doth it, we mental shrug and ask,
To speak contrary to our honest thought
If by such means in social glow we bask,
Our popularity so cheaply bought?

The price we pay is nameless anxiousness
Which gnaws away at us from inside out
A feeling of unease, subtle duress
Which makes us wonder what it’s all about

We’re lonely, and we suffer just for this:
It is ourselves, our inmost selves, we miss

*****

This poet presently lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

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