Stupid Question

Of course I'm not OK.
What a stupid question.
Rib cage is cracked open
and all is exposed.
Nerve endings raw and screaming.
So, how could you look at that
and still ask?  Damn.
You hit me in the face with a sledgehammer
so I wouldn't hurt.  The logic in that
is beyond me and my eradicated face.
My brain and eyeballs still work
and I see what I see.
And none of it is pretty.
You are exactly where you want to be
(with the exception of dying), and
with whom you want to be, also.
All explanations are useless slight of hand,
and I just can't be that blind.
You trust me, while saying you don't,
but you tell me things I could use against you.
I am a comfort, your back up if you need it,
but other than that, I'm nothing.
If anyone deserves a meal ticket from you,
that person would be me, for the simple reasons
that I don't want one, since I won't use you,
and no matter how hard you crush my face
when you have need or even want, really,
faceless and bloody, I'll fill it.
All that means is I give but don't take,
and you take without giving.
So, really, no, I'm not fine,
and I'm offended you can even ask.

Trash Day

Don't want to be discarded
like yesterday's trash
or burdened with the knowledge
that this won't be the last
time that I'll be garbage
in someone else's eyes.
It seems it's always something
that makes me simply less;
not good enough, bad enough,
pretty, smart, stupid, strong,
and the big ones--not helpless
or independent enough.
So, I don't know why I tried
this one last ridiculous time
Cuz it just buried the spinning hatchet
and I'm not going to fight.
There is no reason why
I should.  Garbage from birth--
garbage 'til death, and fuck--
make that soon.
If it's trash I am,
then it's trash I'll be.
I deserve nothing more or less.

Balancing Act

I remember the weekend,
  the one that was happy
and how you watched me
  whenever you spoke.
I remember you smiling
  standing there, beautiful,
and holding my hand while you slept.

But, now it's Tuesday, too cold
  and rainy, so hard and dark.
You told me goobye
  sorry, it's done.
There's another who's less likely to hurt.

I remember you speaking
  for me when needed
and laughing so hard at my jokes
  and taking care of me in a few small ways,
enough to matter, but not choke.

But, then it was over and packing up
  I heard you cough in the trailer
and I knew then, bad was coming
  balanced out by the good we just had.
And I was right, a week and a half later
  Tuesdays are forever changed.

I haven't slept since Monday night.
I try, but dreams of you wake me.
I can't seem to eat more than 3 bites a day
I cry from my good memories, and balance maintains
but soon, the grief will fade.

But, still I remember you driving my car
  like it was yours, and that memory
is also a sweet one to keep.
  I remember playing the game and you
keeping me near, but not so near to constrain.

So you walk just the line I need
  between caring and trust that I can
handle myself.  You walk the line between
  kindness and rage equally well at times,
since integration isn't your thing.
  And you never look so beautiful as when you wear
the brown jersey and pants, relaxing
  and smile down at me.

But the greatest beauty I have
  to remember is when you held my hands
whille inside me and spoke perfectly sweet words
  at perfect times.
But now it is Wednesday
  a week and a half later
and I'm skinnier, weaker, but hanging on
  to the cherished memories and goodbye.