I am a pushover
I let people call themselves my friends
Give clowns and vagabonds permission to insult me
stomp on my pride and other obnoxious things.
Then I sleep with them
feed them meals I can’t afford
call them when I’m lonely
lend them money I don’t have
and tuck them in at night.
If only I had a backbone
that elusive thing called courage
I’d be honest and brash
lock my heart’s door
and say there’s nobody home, never
Instead I let these bullies linger
ravaging my soul
and taking everything I own.
For more on Bullies from a different perspective read my short story, The Bully from Page and Spine Magazine.