Starving The Indulgences

As if the need arises

From the empty silences

From the uncomfortable moments

Of old connections

Now known to be long since lost

Be it family

Or friends from previous lives

You can taste it, smell it

When there isn’t very much to say

…To speak of

…Or even to compare

But you don’t act yourself

It’s that something in you

That holds you back

Stemming from the obviously fears

Fear of those who once held you in high esteem

Releasing you

From their expectations of you…

And so it begins

The mentioning of forgotten names

And the latest gossip

Of anyone you’ve shared history with

They start to chatter

And you start to chatter

To indulge

To speak so far beneath you

And anything you may believe

You’d typically say

And it doesn’t matter

If it’s your father

…Or your gay brother

…Or your sick sister

…Or your dead mother

You’ll speak ill upon them anyway

And for what purpose?

To avoid some uncomfortable moment

To strive for some sickened level of comfort

Through the chatter

Through the noise

Through the bowels

…Of foulness

Or is it the need to compare?

To find some way to “better than”

Due to some rising insecurity

But it doesn’t matter

What your specific reason

May be

Because nothing excuses it!

And I find it disgusting

Yet I’ve found myself doing it

Repeatedly…

…All the same

It takes a really strong person

To be who they truly are

In a world like ours

To fight the urges

To starve the indulgences

To embrace the silences

And to be righteous

Without acting righteous…

I watch myself fall short

Of who I believe I am

Of who I know I am

And I don’t like it

Yet… here I am

But I think its time

For the giant sleeping to arise

For this part of me not to escape

But to regain fighting the good fight

There’s far too much at stake

Mainly, my life

Because I’m no one to judge

But somehow that doesn’t seem quite enough

There are far too many indulgences

That I’ve allowed …in myself

And more …in others…

My will must be more than this

More than these lives

Ripe in their pettiness

There are no pretty severed ties

All that’s left to fester in the fray

And you yourself the only water

To wash it all away…

ⓒ 2010 Shawn Michael Quinn