Longings. A poem by Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art

Longings

As I lie awake in my bed of misery
I recount my longings of deceit.
My cold, wet, clammy hands look back at me;
the person who I became, the person I received.
You ask how many longings of deceit
did I receive from this world; many, too many.
They were handed to me without remorse
or perceived pain
so it was easy for them to give me what I ,of course,
did not want.
They told me of a land of no consequences and I accepted.
Truth be told I accepted it as truth.
Well now it is all their fault but my hands look back at me
and tell me a different story.
One that I do not want to understand or believe or covet.
Please do not blame me or my longings of deceit.
Too many longings to organize or make sense of.
I was the one who was deceived
why will no one care
now that this chair owns me
This electric….This Hell.

By Margaret Leora Workman; Warponie Art