my quiet ride.

why is it that we...
we make our walls so tall
that our only response
is a condescending
"well, i still love you"?

rather than discuss to diffuse
you sweep, under the rug
the rubbish in your own garden
acknowledgement is the mirror
the mirror in the soul
compassion's sword of truth
you can't walk in my shoes
and call it love
you can't see what i see
when you don't exist
exist within your own world
with crystal vision and clarity
the wounds that are fresh
the healed scabs of yesterday
all will be fine, smoothed
glazed over you continue
spinning this mad circle
this ride, i'm jumping off.

my ride, quiet.
my ride, my choosing.