On ending badly

You are determined to be alone.
Like a child
you lash out
at those who would love you.

You rage at the world
as if it had abandoned you.
Hard on yourself,
you prefer illusion to forgiveness.

The pain of what you say
when you are honest with yourself
must make you hurt.

Harsh your judgements,
cruel your verdicts,
they keep you from holding your heart
in gentle hands.
You do not give yourself
room to be flawed
or room to find growth.

You strike out at me
as if you wished me to reply with hostility and anger,
as if by taking some form of revenge I could give you comfort.

I do not have it within me to give to you such dark presents,
or poisoned mercy.

You scream at me with your actions.
You say, “I am not your friend.”

I see that.
I hear you.

You set fire to every bridge between us.
I stand in the ashes,
still myself,
sad for you.
I lay down my love,
a reedy sapling in the desolation,
green and strange.
It does not die, and I wonder at
the resiliency.
I can no longer nurture it’s growth
and yet it survives in this destruction of our making.