Poetry

Poetry: Bullies

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.
Instead, I let these bullies linger,
ravaging my soul
and taking everything I own.

©️mft

Freelance writer, poet, yogi and photographer from Santa Barbara, California. I write and take pictures about a variety of topics, from my early childhood in Philadelphia, to my years as a family therapist, and finally to my soul-searching years in California. The things that move me may have a humorous or serious content or both. Either way, I hope my poetry, pictures and stories resonate with you.

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