The phone has rang for days
With you on the other end
Sobbing, Anguished,
Worrying
Over every miniscule thing.
I tried to be a good friend
By listening
And sacrificing my time
To be there for you;
But you took advantage,
Calling in the early morning
And in the late hours of the night
Expecting me to listen,
Always listen,
To your incessant ramblings
And to keep re-applying
Emotional band-aids
To your problems
Without your attempting
To fix them yourself.
The cost to me was high:
Lost sleep,
Out-of-control eating,
And anxiety and fear
That I might say or do
The wrong thing
And drive you
The rest of the way over the edge.
So now I've stepped back
And wrapped myself
In the armor of self-protection.
No longer will I take your calls
Or come running to your house
When you can't face a challenge.
It goes against my nature
To turn my back on a friend,
But how much of a friend were you,
Really,
When you took and took
What I gave and gave
With little given in return?
Even, and especially good people, must learn to say no. I've been there, don't go there again. When you need such a person they will usually not be there for you because they are too absorbed in their own problems, real or imagined. Good poem, well penned.
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
Georg