sometimes i think that i wouldn’t feel so lonely, if maybe i was just a little less of myself…
a little less intense,
a little less emotional,
a little less afraid,
a little less self-centered,
a little less sensitive,
a little less outspoken,
a little less vulnerable,
a little less free-spirited,
a little less hopeful,
a little less compassionate,
a little less talented,
a little less intelligent,
a little less paradoxical
a little less me…
but i only think that because the ones who loved me the most because, or maybe in spite of all this, are gone…

and in these raw nights of self-induced pity, i lose appreciation for myself, for all that i love about me…
and knowing all that is going on in the world, i hate that i’m not more grateful, that i feel so needy…
and even more, i hate that my feelings don’t limit themselves to my sleeve, but emblazon themselves across my face, my heart, my actions…

until i look at the innocence of those i love the most, and real-eyes
that a little less me
is a little less human…

and that just wouldn’t do…
©2009 H. A. Wilcox