Each Strand You See Of It Invites More

Nothing that I will ever do,
Will be to please you from your perspective.
I have never known those desires.
Suppressed or to be regretted.

I did not earn the right to live my life,
To delight in the feeding of your appetite.
With the ignoring of my own cravings.
I grew up in a different neighborhood.

And for you to expect that I do...
Drool with wishes to have your point of view,
Is such a waste of an interpretation...
That assumes I look to you...
To produce my hopes and dreams.

This is not true.
But I do admit to having an open door policy.
You may come to visit.
But staying on my mind is out of the question.
My own time is enough to occupy picked adventures.

Believe it or not there is nothing that you've got,
Do I sit in silence wishing with time to it to give.
Curious?
Yes.
But wishing to have another existence,
No.

Have you noticed I was not born yesterday?
And the hiding of my earned gray hair,
Has not entered my mind.
Each strand you see of it invites more.
But none of it had you put there.
Even on your good days.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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