Words You Lack

Instead of awkward pity, the strange lad wants you to talk normal.

You talk about your dog, you say, "Ain't she pretty?"
You swim the surface; I hold back my breath.
My sea is cold, ruined, and shitty,
Still reeling from the shock of my pet's death.

You show your child's medals and accolades,
Expecting a "wow," saying "they grow so fast."
I’m drained by the system, its endless blockades,
Not knowing if time with my own will last.

You show me the video of your Christmas feast,
When I sat alone, just masking my pain,
Counting the seconds for the season to cease,
And hoping the new year brings sanity again.

You pity me, admit you don't know what to say,
So talk of the beer at Bullers, "the pub to be,"
The game that we won, the music played today,
The strange lad's poem, that original melody.

The problem isn't me, it's what you see,
You don't know how to sit and speak with me.
You simply lack the depth and empathy
To face the truth of my reality.