Sputterpub's Blog

I know a forceful personality,
who might have made a most impressive man,
but culture deemed her shrill, and family
was sore the more she nonconformed to plan.
They said she was a strident know-it-all,
(who loved to learn and talked to get response).
Her mother shushed her, trying to forestall
the fits, who never mastered nonchalance.

Two weeks ago amid the pain, she said
“They think I’m tough. They only see my shell,
but inside I’m as soft as mush instead.
Don’t you agree? I think you know me well.”
And so we stopped to sense what she forgot.
We laughed together then. For who is not?

He registers embarrassment because
I grinned at him, although my smile had
no relevance to any of his flaws –
of course I never meant to make him sad.

Her feelings have been bruised. With hurt she’s full,
and so she flails internally at those
she says she loves but holds responsible.
Her pain’s the only clarity she knows.

Apparently it isn’t rare to find
such instances of misdirected blame.
I’ve friends and relatives, acute and kind,
who seek to give their sadness someone’s name
beside their own, their vision steadfastly
away from self and dagger-shot at me.