Sometimes the reflection is ugly,
A hideous malformed amalgamation
Of all of my worst selves.
Sometimes it is hard to find the light
In the sharp, jagged crevices
Of my own soul.
How dare I expect you to supply
That which I cannot access
When I need it the most?
What kind of absurd demand
To scream for kindness, patience and love
When all I spew is venom and not even with words.
When my entire being seethes with distaste
When poison seeps from my pores
When the boils of self-hatred bubble
And erupt under my skin?
Too much, too much, too much –
‘Tis far too much to ask
For you to give me that which I do not give myself,
And that which you do not yourself possess.