Caring

I came home frustrated tonight.

Frustrated because I’ve got no hands.

No hands to hold as I struggle through this life.

No one to stand beside.

There are people in every moment

But they all seem empty.

They all wave and smile

Ask how I am

Without listening for replies.

They all disappear at their convenience

When I’m shaking and sobbing on the floor

Empty and broken and only asking someone be there.

So I came home punch-wall angry.

To an empty house

Dark and hopeless.

And I sat down alone

And stared at my hands.

My own hands.

Trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me.

What is it that makes me so dependent on other people?

What is it that makes me feel so lonely when I am so surrounded?

Because someone told me recently I deserve to be happy

And I’m trying my best

But it feels like no one listens

And it feels like all I’ve got are empty sentiments that taste like dollar store fig bars

And I just haven’t figured out how it is to be alone

And how it is to not care

And how it is to care enough about myself

That I don’t have to have someone to lean upon.

And I’ve been sending signals out to empty hallways

Empty bedrooms

Empty space

To see if there is anybody there

But all I hear back is the sound of my own hulloos reverberating

And they sound like baby cries.

No I came home frustrated

Because the people that are paid to care

Just aren’t caring.

And the ones who are normally caring

Aren’t being paid.

And we’re all just wrapped up in the lives of our own miniscule selves

That we don’t see the way our neighbor is twisting out on his sidewalk.