The anger takes me away from her –
sitting here where she first realized nature was better.
I’m hiding from thoughts of her
because my anger and her love
can’t be in the same room.
I feel shame –
feel my mind’s eye avoid her face
and disappointment.
Just let me be here Meg.
It will serve me better in the end –
to not hold hope or faith or belief
in beauty or proper ness
or courtesy or civility.
Jealousy, rage, pain,
gut punches of reality
will serve me better – living here.
Knowing being good won’t save me
because you were better than us all.