Rikers Island

-Poem-

You ran from your issues

the way a snotty nose runs

ripping holes in the tissue

from just blowing your nose once.

You're mind's expelling

shells from a shot gun

-more like a snot gun-

you've lost this fight more than once.

But bitterness becomes a habit

a drug

and you know that you can't quit.

Constantly reminded

of the things that he didn't do

Like buying you something

"Look at Matthew- with the holes in his shoes."

No.

Still resentment for him grows.

Wipe your nose

cause they'll know. And you can't show

emotion.

And while you're sitting in this station

waiting for visitation, you know

you can't do this alone.

Tears filling your eyes

you can't see

but just scream:

"God Help Me!"

-R.S.P.