Afterthoughts from Sadie

I've changed
my mind, Sadie.
I don't think
you've helped me.
I've only succeeded
in hurting myself.
Again.

***

Bill Bryson
may have been
in the store.
I didn't care.
I wasn't in the
mood to humor
customers.
But I do find
that funny.
Hey, Bill!
Sorry I didn't care!

***

Nothing against Steve,
but man, I hate you.
That would be envy, there.

***

It's just,
I'm sick of it,
sick of feeling
bad, sick of
knowing I'm bad,
that the whole
coveting thing
is frowned on
even though
it's hotwired
into us, encouraged
at every wink,
and even if I
can rationalize it,
all it does
is hurt me, because
I can't do anything
about it, because
I can't do people,
I can't do 'em,
even as much as
I try, and sad as
it is, a lot of it
is just the stuff
that bites me
again and again,
not as punishment
but because that's
the pattern I have
everywhere else.

That is punishment,
to whip me around
and leave me behind
every possible way,
no matter how close
it sometimes seems.

I run myself ragged.

And, I guess,
I still don't
believe
in love.

Mostly because
it don't believe
in me, the wicked slate.