When you say I’m beautiful it makes me wonder if you’re saying it for me or for you… like confirmation.
Like you’re assuring yourself that “Yes, this isn’t all wrong. Maybe this is right.”
A way to assuage worry for today, or this hour or moment.
You’re always questioning my intentions, wanting to know if I’m being honorable or self-seeking.
Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll ask me the right question; the one that’ll expose me (even when I don’t know I have anything in need of exposure) and I’ll be found out, revealed to be the person you thought I wasn’t, and you’ll be gone.
You’ll just go without warning, well, maybe you’d give me a small sign, some indication that you’re leaving:
“I’m going to Africa this semester. I may not be coming back.” May meaning not.
And then you’ll disappear.
Where does that leave me?
What do I do now?
What am I doing anyway, and who is it for?
In a positive way, at least it spurned self-reflection, but it could quickly become self-loathing, self-hating, self-devouring.
Why care when it all goes to shit? What does it matter?
There’s no kind of confirmation, nothing tells me that doing what’s right makes any difference on heaven or earth. I expect a reward, but there is none. No prosperity promised, no compensation for sacrifice, this morality only kindles the fire of self-righteousness and feeling as though I am owed, I deserve this, give me what’s coming to me.
Don’t deny me.
My voice will not become silent.
For if I do not shout won’t the very rocks cry out?
Is this blood shed in faith only vanity that falls to the ground and is meaningless?
I do not want to amount to nothing.