Baby
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By EB
- 2817 reads
I find her drowning in a puddle
of dresses - all sizes,
none of which fit. She begs my sympathy,
depleted of late.
She can't / won't leave the house -
despite starvation - still 'too fat.'
I'd insist, but dread the histrionics;
panic attacks; personal attacks.
Cutting. Mopping up pity with self hate.
She asks if I love her -
harder to answer by the day.
Wasn't always like this; there was kindness;
adoration for the laughing girl
with gentle curves that filled the moulds
of two cupped hands.
Now no one understands her...
You don't find me pretty any more!
Not attracted to me, are you?
You don't want me, do you? Do you?
I walk - don't look, or say
what's on my mind; briefly wonder
how she'd cope
if I didn't lie this time.
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Comments
Runs the gamut of emotions.
Runs the gamut of emotions. The short lines and curt tone are well pitched to match the persona's mood.
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Poor baby, good poem!
Poor baby, good poem!
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You've beautifully captured
You've beautifully captured the nightmare dynamics of low self esteem...in extremis! These issues cause so much misery in our world, and this is a sensitive response to it.
She asks if I love her -
harder to answer by the day. ...oh my goodness, how many relationships flounder and fail on this horrible spiralling dynamic!
And what a brilliant line:
Cutting. Mopping up pity with self hate.
I really liked this poem. Thank you.
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