I tried so hard to be good
I really did;
to keep my comments inaudible,
to smooth the curl of distain
from my lips and nostrils
I can't really help myself,
despite the kind of intentions
that de-motivate me
to give myself away
in small, bloody strips
to anyone who asks,
and some who don't
(nothing helps)
I've tried to put everything
in the right place,
to find order, accomplishment,
accommodate
Never to upset
the carefully orchestrated atmosphere
of those I attend to,
but could not help
(this is an ugly thing)
Happiness could be yours,
absently