Poetry

When humor hurts…

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The ripe sarcasm
Of your words, said in jest,
Cut deep under my skin,
But are never accompanied 
By any soothing nuances
To let me know
You have a soul
Under your exterior of humor.

Laughter, they say,
Is good medicine
For the soul.
But it seems
You laugh to hide
Your inability to show love.

Perhaps you show love
In a way I cannot comprehend.
Perhaps I don’t recognize it
Because it’s not
The kind of love I need.

How sad,
That after all this time
You don’t understand me at all.
How frustrating
That I can’t discuss this with you
Without starting a fight.

I don’t want to fight,
I don’t want to hurt you.
I rather spend
The remainder of your days
Creating happy memories
For you are the only one left.

But, how gut-wrenching,
That there will always be
An underlying sense of insincerity,
For there is no humor
To ever compensate
For love not felt
From one’s own mother.

 


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Image source: Google images
Contents compiled: October 3 2016
Originally published: October 4 2016
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