Don't Call It Upma

During
the
worst
times
with
you,
you
would
scream
at
me,
how
easily
you
could
have
destroyed
me
brutal,
vicious,
with
no
pity,
hammering
my
every
defense,
stripping
my
every
disguise
to
the
core
"What's
the
matter,
the
Right
Reverend
can't
take
it?"
scolding
mockery
in
your
voice.

Harsh
you
were
at
those
times,
uncaring,
unfeeling,
unyielding.

I
tried
to
surrender
to
you,
to
put
my
head
into
the
buzz saw.

I
wanted
to
empty
myself,
let
go
of
the
last
shred
of
defense,
but
the
armor
was
so
hard
inside
me,
even
your
quick
side-glance
and
I
would
flinch
in
fear,
realizing
I
couldn't
let go.

On
the
way
to
the
kitchen
to
sneak
a bite or two
of
forbidden
salad,
feeling
your
eyes
boring
holes
in
my
back.

How
you
squeezed
my
heart
when
I
tried
to
talk
to someone
just to talk
the
Pain
lasting
for
hours,
as
I
begged
silently
for
your
forgiveness
until
it
eased up.
And
that
time
in
Albuquerque
at
the
apartment,
when
you
withdrew
completely,
I
suddenly
felt
this
abyss
of
horrible
incredible
emptiness
of
pain/heart/sorrow
I
thought
would never
go
away.

But
underneath
all
that
you
put
me
through
was
your
love
for
me,
even
though
I
was
the
worst
of
disciples.

I
earned
nothing,
deserved
nothing.

Why
you
cared
so
much
for
me
I
will
never
Know.